ILftG 


MMER 
kWOOING 

R~ 


. 


:Y  E  STONE  BASSET; 


415E 


B.  AN.  Vw  Bergen 
...BOOKS... 

Carbondale     -     Penna. 


(7 


-  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


I  don't  sec  how  jone  can  be  without  a  garden  and 
morning  glories 


M1D  6  UMMBR 
WO  OIMG 


JBOSTQM 
LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEF&RD  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,    1913,    BY  <* 

LOTHROP,   LEE   &•   SHEPARD    CO. 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED  ^» 


Publishid, 


1913 


Norwood  Prttt 

Btrwck  6-  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Afau.,  U.S.A. 


. 


"A  garden  is  a  beautiful  book  writ 
by  the  finger  of  God:  Every  flower  and 
every  leaf  is  a  letter." 


2125554 


HA  T  to  a  man  who  loves 

the  air 
Are  trinkets,   gauds ;  and 

jewels  rare? 
And   what   is    wealth    or 

fame  to  one 
Who  is  a  brother  to  the  sun  — 
Who  drinks  the  wine  that  morning  spills 
Upon  the  heaven-kissing  hills, 
And  sees  a  ray  of  hope  afar 
In  every  glimmer  of  a  start  " 


IF  course  I  do  not 
expect  the  per- 
son who  dislikes 
gardens — should 
there  be  such  a 
person  in  the  world  —  to  read  this 
tale.  Being  a  plant-loving,  seed- 
sowing  woman,  I  have  glorified  my 
garden,  made  it  a  spot  of  earth 
peculiarly  dear  to  me.  However,  I 
have  not  forgotten  romance.  How 
could  I  with  Priscilla  Brown  for  a 
neighbour  and  a  fine  plant-loving 
young  man  for  a  visitor?  Then  the 
summer-house  just  built  for  two: 


vu 


Introduction 


so  cosy  and  so  clambered  over  by 
scarlet  creepers.  Come  and  sit  in  it 
while  I  tell  you  the  story. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VH. 


IX. 

X. 

XI. 

XII. 


GET  THYSELF  A  GARDEN  AND  HAPPINESS 
I  MOVE  INTO  MY  EARTHLY  PARADISE  . 
OUR  VIOLET  DINNER        .... 

SUNSHINE  AFTER  RAIN      .... 

A  SUGGESTION  FOR  A  SUMMER  -  HOUSE 
SWEET  PRISCILLA        ..... 

THE  OLD  -  FASHIONED  GARDEN 
WE  INSPECT  MR.  BROWN'S  "  FAILURES  " 
AN  ARGUMENT  BETWEEN  HUSBAND  AND 
WIFE  .      .      .      .....    140 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  Miss  SPRANGLEBSRRY    151 
A  VISIT  FROM  MY  IRISH  NEIGHBOUR  .     163 
MR.  SIMMONS  AND  I  SOLVE  A  PROBLEM  .     174 
I   PURCHASE   A   PATENT  BUG  -  EXTER- 
MINATOR .......    192 

ix 


PACE 
13 
38 

47 
67 
77 
89 
97 
"3 


Contents 


uCutX' 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XIV. 

MR.  PEGLEG  COMES  TO  VISIT  ME  . 

217 

\ 

XV. 

MY  AUNT'S  DREAM     .... 

232 

^ 

XVI. 

THE  HAUNTED  ROSE  GARDEN  . 

248 

^~*+^ 

xvn. 

MR.  PEGLEG'S  SWEETHEART  LEADS 

Wl 

HIM  HOME         

269 

>~    3 

Cg 

xvm. 

I  SEND  GIFTS  TO  THE  MISSES  LARK 

284 

7S 

xrx. 

A  GARDEN  CONFESSION 

298 

© 

XX. 

MAX  TAKES  A  VACATION   . 

313 

X 

XXI. 

THE  CAMP  BY  THE  LAKE  . 

329 

( 

XXII. 

MR.  BROWN  EXPERIMENTS  WITH  His 

/ 

AIR  -  SHIP  

348 

( 

XXIII. 

I  AM  THANKFUL  FOR  A  CIRCUS 

366 

/-I 

r      w 

XXIV. 

I  FALL  ASLEEP  AND  REGRET  IT 

391 

)  if 

XXV. 

THE    PROPOSAL    IN    MY    SUMMER- 

PL 

HOUSE        

407 

5 

XXVI. 

MR.  BROWN  Is  DISSATISFIED    . 

426 

W< 

XXVII. 

A  DISAPPOINTMENT  THAT  PROVED  A 

Aj 

BLESSING    

429 

«w 

xxvni. 

I  POSSESS  A  SUN  -DIAL     . 

437 

fl 

XXLX. 

MAX     AND     I,     AND     THE     SUMMER- 

,             l 

HOUSE        

448 

m 

XXX. 

I  SURPRISE  MR.  SPEAR 

455 

.-. 

XXXI. 

GOOD  ADVICE  IN  REGARD  TO  COOKS 

469 

TO 

XXXII. 

THEIR  WEDDING  DAY 

481 

M 

ILL  USTRATIONS 


I  don't  see  how  one  can  live  without  a  garden 

and  morning-glories     (Page  368)      Frontispiece 

FACING  PACE 

"I  see  —  I  see  flowers  in  your  pathway  "        .      54 

"  Country  life  is  so  dull  for  a  young  man,  and 

I  find  he  must  be  entertained  "        .        .     196 

The  early-rising  moon  made  a  path  of  glory 

for  them 424 


GET  THYSELF   A 

GARDEN  AND 

HAPPINESS 


I 


Y  first  purchase 
this  spring  was  a 
bottle  of  tonic 
for  my  cook.  I 
imagined  she 
looked  pale;  but  Max  said, 
"  How  can  Rhoda  look  pale 
when  she  is  as  black  as  the  ace 
of  spades  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  she  looks  sort  of 
fagged,"  I  persisted. 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  adminis- 
tering the  doses,  for  Rhoda  is  not 
fond  of  medicine;  but  I  put  it  to 
her  in  this  way :  "  If  you  fall  sick  I 

13 


14        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

shall  starve,  and  that  means  a  great 
deal  to  me." 

After  such  a  remark,  I  would 
pour  out  a  big  spoonful  of  the 
tonic  and  poor  Rhoda  would  swal- 
low it  with  a  horrible  grimace. 
"Jes*  to  please  yer,  Honey,"  she 
said. 

You  see,  I  love  my  cook,  and  if 
I  do  not  take  medicine  myself  I  am 
willing  to  give  it  to  others.  Why 
should  I  take  medicine?  When  I 
need  a  tonic  I  go  out  and  listen  to 
a  bluebird  singing,  or  to  the  merry 
"  cheep  "  of  a  robin.  No,  indeed ; 
when  I  want  to  take  medicine  and 
die,  it  shall  be  in  the  dead  of  winter 
and  not  in  the  glorious  waking  time 
of  the  year. 

The  other  morning,  as  I  was  put- 
ting away  the  tonic  bottle,  Mrs. 
Webster,  my  next-door  neighbour, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         15 

dropped  in  upon  me.  I  love  her, 
although  she  is  a  Christian  Scien- 
tist and  I  am  a  gardener.  She  is 
the  merriest  soul  alive;  but  to-day 
she  took  me  to  task  for  dosing 
Rhoda.  She  followed  me  into  the 
greenhouse,  lecturing  all  the  time. 
I  kept  right  on  watering  plants  and 
searching  for  stray  bugs.  When 
she  had  apparently  exhausted  her- 
self, I  said : 

"  I  don't  take  medicine,  because  I 
am  one  of  Nature's  children,  and 
my  old  mother  isn't  fond  of  sick 
things.  She  wants  her  trees,  her 
plants,  and  her  animals  to  be  strong 
and  sleek,  so  I  heed  well  her  wise 
counsels.  You  don't  take  medicine, 
because  you  say  you  have  discov- 
ered a  higher  law  that,  when 
obeyed,  makes  you  strong  and 
happy;  but  Rhoda  is  like  neither 


16        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


of  us;  she  is  a  Methodist,  and  Meth- 
odists always  take  medicine." 

"  Sho!  "  she  exclaimed. 

I  was  bending  over  a  pink  azalea, 
a  perfect  bouquet  of  bloom. 

"  That  plant  didn't  need  medi- 
cine," she  said,  presently. 

"  It  got  a  tonic,"  I  persisted,  — 
"  bone-dust  and  other  things.  If 
you  will  not  scold  any  more,  I  will 
give  it  to  you ; "  and  I  proceeded  to 
wrap  the  plant  in  stout  paper. 

She  went  off  perfectly  delighted 
with  the  azalea,  but  still  strong  in 
her  faith. 

At  precisely  twelve  o'clock  I  gave 
Rhoda  another  spoonful  of  the 
tonic;  then  sat  down  to  wait  for 
my  luncheon.  We  all  need  strength 
to  cook. 

When  Max  came  home  at  night 
and  told  me  he  had  made  the  first 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         17 


payment  on  Tom  Norton's  place, 
and  now  it  was  really  ours  —  for 
Mr.  Norton  couldn't  possibly  back 
out  —  I  was  so  vaingloriously 
happy  that  I  knocked  over  a  vase 
I  dislike,  and  broke  it. 

I  really  didn't  mean  to  break  that 
vase,  it  just  happened  so:  yet  I 
have  always  been  very  fortunate  in 
getting  rid  of  things  I  dislike.  I 
remember  once  having  a  bonnet  I 
hated.  It  cost  me  so  much  that  I 
felt  obliged  to  wear  it;  but  one 
night  I  forgot  and  left  it  on  a  bench 
in  the  garden.  A  fearful  storm 
arose,  and  next  morning,  when  I 
went  to  look  for  my  bonnet,  why, 
you  wouldn't  have  known  it  was  a 
bonnet.  I  bore  that  loss  with  great 
resignation. 

Again,  I  owned  a  cape  (a  gift 
from  my  Aunt  Matilda).  It  was  an 


18        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

ugly  shade  of  gray  —  so  unbecom- 
ing!—  but  who  can  spurn  a  gift? 
Duty  compelled  me  to  wear  it,  but 
luck,  as  usual,  was  with  me.  The 
first  time  I  took  a  boat  ride  that  sea- 
son, a  gust  of  wind  snatched  the 
cape  from  my  shoulders  and  blew 
it  into  the  lake.  I  never  recovered 
it.  I  wrote  to  Aunt  Matilda  of  my 
loss,  suggesting  that  if  she  were  to 
send  a  red  cape  ntxt  time,  the  wind 
might  not  blow  so  hard. 

There  are  few  women  who  admit 
the  truth.  Even  my  best  friend 
would  have  endured  the  vase  in  si- 
lence; but  I,  —  well,  it  was  such  an 
ugly  vase  —  yellow,  with  green 
stripes  running  round  it.  A  mis- 
sionary gave  it  to  me,  —  he  brought 
it  from  China.  I  had  spent  hours 
trying  to  make  it  fit  into  some  ob- 
scure corner;  but  it  wouldn't.  It 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         19 

always  provoked  me  and  set  me 
against  missionaries  the  moment  I 
entered  the  room  —  "  jarred  on  my 
nerves,"  I  told  Max. 

He  laughed  and  said  it  was  a  jar; 
yet  he  was  quite  put  out  when  I  ac- 
cidentally broke  it. 

"  Judith,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are 
the  most  wasteful  creature  alive. 
You've  smashed  a  good  vase." 

"  I  don't  care,"  I  said  serenely, 
"  I  have  always  disliked  it.  If  more 
women  would  get  rid  of  the  things 
they  dislike,  they  would  be  hap- 
pier." 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  Max; 
"  you  might  get  to  feeling  that  way 
towards  me." 

"I  could  not,"  I  returned;  "for 
you  know,  Max,  I  really  admire 
you." 

Max  looked  foolish,  yet  he  likes 


20         A  Midsummer  Wooing 

a  little  praise.  I  find  I  can  rule  him 
better  this  way  than  by  frowns  and 
scolding;  and  that  reminds  me  of 
a  story. 

A  little  old  Irishman  was  walking 
along  our  streets  one  day,  smoking 
a  clay  pipe.  At  a  corner  he  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and  boarded 
a  passing  car.  There  was  one  seat 
vacant  —  beside  a  finely  dressed 
lady.  Pat  proceeded  to  take  it  and 
make  himself  as  small  as  possible. 
He  hid  the  vile-smelling  pipe  be- 
neath his  knotty  fingers;  but  the 
lady  was  ill-tempered  —  her  face 
was  sour  and  gloomy.  When  a 
sudden  jolt  knocked  the  unfortu- 
nate Irishman  against  her,  she  said 
scornfully: 

"  If  I  were  your  wife,  I  would 
mix  you  a  dose  of  poison!  " 

Pat   looked   at   her   and   replied 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        21 


meekly :  "  If  ye  war  me  wife,  mum, 
shure,  I'd  be  willing  to  take  it." 

I  am  inclined  to  think  some  men 
feel  like  taking  poison,  much  as  I 
dislike  to  admit  it. 

Of  course,  what  belongs  to  Max, 
I  claim  as  mine,  also.  In  this  case 
I  was  doubly  happy:  for  it  seemed 
I  was  only  coming  into  my  own. 
Virtually,  Tom  Norton's  place  be- 
longed to  me  last  summer.  Did  I 
not  make  his  rose-bushes  bear  my 
roses?  I  thought  of  the  tulip  and 
hyacinth  beds  and  the  Madonna 
lilies  which  I  had  so  trustfully 
planted;  the  rose  peonies  upon 
which  I  had  squandered  my  money. 
Had  I  been  a  selfish,  miserly  crea- 
ture, I  would  not  have  spent  this 
money  to  adorn  another's  garden. 
Had  I  listened  to  Max,  where  now 
would  be  this  wealth  of  beauty  that 


22        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

will  surely  welcome  me  home?  I 
have  decided  in  my  own  mind,  that 
a  man  is  not  competent  to  judge  of 
a  woman's  flower  garden. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Max,  after  he 
had  recovered  from  the  loss  of  the 
vase,  "  you  will  be  wanting  to  move 
out  soon.  Will  you  go  in  a  large 
wagon  with  a  double  row  of  flower- 
pots on  each  side  of  you,  or  will  you 
be  wise  and  leave  the  products  of 
your  greenhouse  behind?" 

"  Leave  my  plants  to  wither  and 
die ! "  I  exclaimed,  indignantly. 
"  No,  indeed,  but  you  need  not  ride 
in  the  wagon,  dear.  In  truth,  there 
wouldn't  be  room  for  you." 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  said  Max. 

His  suggestion  about  the  wagon 
really  pleased  me.  The  very  next 
day  I  went  to  see  Mr.  Banbury,  a 
liveryman,  and  engaged  of  him 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        23 

what  he  called  his  "  democrat." 
One  fine  morning,  about  the  last 
of  April,  we  started  forth. 

I  had  the  back  of  the  box  to 
the  "  democrat "  well  packed  with 
flower-pots;  and  I  put  a  lot  in 
front,  for  Mr.  Banbury  said  he 
could  just  as  well  hang  his  feet  out- 
side, so  I  let  him.  Then  I  set  a  big 
fuchsia  on  the  seat  between  us  and 
about  the  dashboard  I  fastened  a 
tape  and  tied  some  of  my  orchid 
baskets  to  it.  When  I  got  in  I  had 
Mr.  Banbury  hand  me  a  large  hy- 
drangea and  two  or  three  smaller 
pots:  and,  as  he  was  so  good-na- 
tured, I  made  Rhoda  fetch  a  patent 
thing  that  Max  hangs  his  coats  on. 
This  we  put  over  Mr.  Banbury's 
shoulders  and  fastened  to  it  two 
large  hanging  baskets.  As  they 
hung  down  his  back,  he  said  they 


24         A  Midsummer  Wooing 


wouldn't  interfere  with  his  driving 
and  I  knew  we  ought  to  take  them, 
and  could  think  of  no  other  way. 

When  we  started  I  was  glad  Max 
was  not  at  home.  He  has  such 
peculiar  notions  about  appearances ; 
but,  as  I  had  done  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of,  and  people  know  I 
am  fond  of  flowers,  I  held  up  my 
head  and  looked  as  unconcerned  as 
if  riding  in  a  barouche. 

I  found  Mr.  Banbury  a  very 
pleasant  companion.  He  said  he 
was  raised  in  the  country;  and  got 
to  telling  me  all  about  his  father's 
place:  how  many  cows  they  kept 
and  how  many  horses.  He  said  he 
used  to  work  in  a  garden,  but  he 
hated  it,  for  he  always  wanted  to 
get  into  town  and  own  a  livery 
stable. 

"  And  now  that  you  have  your 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        25 

wish,"  I  remarked,  "  of  course  you 
are  very  happy?  " 

"  Oh,  about  so-so !  "  drawled  Mr. 
Banbury;  "  'tain't  all  I  expected; 
for  you  know  as  we  git  older  things 
don't  seem  the  same.  I  often  wish 
I  was  back  in  that  garden."  He 
sighed. 

I  should  have  tried  to  comfort 
him,  but  just  then  we  heard  a  noise, 
and  looking  back,  I  saw  a  fat 
woman  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  waving  a  mop  at  us.  She 
had  run  out  of  a  little  house  by  the 
wayside. 

Mr.  Banbury  said  he  didn't  be- 
lieve she  wanted  much  and  was  for 
driving  on,  but  I  said  no,  we  had 
better  wait. 

She  came  up  with  us  at  last  — 
still  waving  her  mop.  She  was  very 
much  out  of  breath. 


n 


-SW 
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26 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Shure,  how  mooch  air  thim 
flowers?  "  she  gasped.  "  I'd  loike  a 
geranium;  a  red  one,  plaze." 

Mr.  Banbury  was  about  to  ex- 
plain, but  I  nudged  him.  I  was 
determined  the  poor  soul  should  be 
pleased.  I  set  the  hydrangea  on 
Mr.  Banbury's  knee  and  climbed 
down  over  the  wheel. 

"What  one  will  you  have?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  loikes  that  un,"  she  replied, 
pointing  to  a  vivid  scarlet  bloom. 

I  set  it  out.  "  Won't  you  take 
another?"  I  inquired. 

"  Shure  I  wu'd ;  but  what  may  be 
the  price  o'  'em?" 

'*  They're  cheap  to-day,"  I  said ; 
and  set  out  four  more  pots. 

She  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  her 
calico  gown  and  fished  out  a  dime. 

"  Thot's  all  I  hev,"  she  said. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        27 

"Is  it?"  I  replied,  waving  back 
the  money.  "  Well,  take  them  all 
and  pay  me  some  other  time." 

She  went  off  carrying  the  pre- 
cious geraniums,  and  we  drove  on: 
but  presently  I  looked  back  and  saw 
that  she  had  forgotten  her  mop.  It 
was  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Mr.  Banbury  said  she  couldn't 
carry  it  on  account  of  the  gerani- 
ums and  would  come  back  for  it; 
but  I  thought  differently.  "  It  is  a 
good  mop,"  I  said,  "  and  it  might 
get  run  over.  I  shall  carry  it  back 
to  her,"  and  in  spite  of  his  saying 
that  the  horses  wouldn't  stand,  I 
set  down  my  hydrangea  again  and 
crawled  out  over  the  wheel. 

I  was  gone  longer  than  I  ex- 
pected, for  Mrs.  Sullivan  needed  me 
to  tell  her  just  how  to  set  out  those 
geraniums,  and  then  I  gave  her 


K 


S\ 


28        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

some  good  advice  about  a  flower 
bed  she  intended  planting.  I  don't 
think  Mr.  Banbury  liked  it,  for  he 
looked  cross.  However,  I  paid  no 
attention.  I  have  learned  that  to 
pay  no  attention  to  people's  ill- 
humour  is  a  very  good  way  not  to 
fall  angry  yourself. 

Presently  we  reached  our  gate, 
and  there  stood  Pat,  my  gardener, 
ready  to  welcome  me. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  just  how 
a  little  old  Irishman's  face  looks 
when  he  is  pleased.  It  was  all 
"  smily,"  and  yet  there  was  reserve 
in  it  —  a  sort  of  natural  dignity 
which  always  marks  a  boundary 
line  between  Pat  and  me.  He  never 
can  forget  that  I  am  "  the  boss,"  as 
he  calls  it. 

"  Here  I  am,  Pat,"  I  cried  joy- 
fully. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         29 

"  I'm  plazed  to  see  ye,  mum,"  he 
replied. 

I  handed  him  the  hydrangea, 
then  allowed  him  to  help  me  down. 
Together,  we  fell  to  work  unload- 
ing Mr.  Banbury's  wagon;  and 
that  person  drove  off  —  not  ill 
pleased,  I  thought. 

Here  was  a  whole  day  in  the 
country  with  no  one  to  bother  me. 
This  sounds  rather  heartless;  but 
you  know  there  are  times  when  one 
likes  to  be  alone. 

After  telling  Pat  where  to  put  our 
precious  plants,  in  the  house  and 
about  the  piazza,  I  ran  down  the 
garden  path  to  the  spring.  Sure 
enough,  the  daffodils  I  had  planted 
were  in  bloom,  waving  their  silken 
yellow  petals  in  the  brisk  wind. 
Who  could  wish  a  lovelier  sight 
than  these  beauties  huddling  about 


30        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

that  little  crystal  basin!  They 
seemed  like  pure  sunshine.  The 
ferns  were  not  all  unfolded  yet;  but 
the  few  that  were  looked  so  lacy, 
so  freshly  green,  making  such  a 
charming  background,  that  I  felt 
like  saying  to  myself:  "  '  Well  done, 
thou  good  and  faithful  servant ' ; 
now  enjoy  thy  work." 

I  sat  down  upon  a  bench  —  lost 
in  admiration.  Presently  a  blue- 
bird happened  near.  I  caught  the 
bright  gleam  of  his  back  as  he 
darted  past  me  and  perched  upon  a 
young  maple.  He  began  to  sing: 
a  delicious,  rollicking  song,  so  full 
of  good  cheer  and  pleasant  faith, 
that  I  felt  like  giving  him  an  encore. 
In  listening,  I  forgot  all  about  time 
and  all  about  trouble :  —  not  that  I 
have  much  trouble,  unless,  one  can 
count  on  what  is  borrowed:  and 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         31 

why,  I  ask,  should  I  borrow  what  I 
do  not  want  and  little  need?  If  all 
women  would  remember  this,  they 
would  enjoy  themselves  better.  I 
could  not  help  thinking  as  I  sat 
there  that  life  is  a  good  thing,  no 
matter  how  much  some  people  de- 
cry it.  I  determined  to  live  as  long 
as  possible,  and  the  only  thing  that 
worried  me  was  the  leaving  of  life. 
I  half  wished  I  had  helped  to  make 
the  world,  for  I  should  have  been 
just  as  kind  to  man  as  God  is  to 
nature.  That  probably  old  tree 
yonder,  was  it  not  putting  forth  a 
perfect  miracle  of  fresh  foliage  — 
literally  renewing  itself?  Why, 
then,  should  not  a  bald-headed  man 
have  a  new  growth  of  hair?  This 
growing  old,  who  likes  it?  Not  I. 
The  more  I  look  into  nature,  the 
younger  I  feel.  My  spirit,  at  least, 


32        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

shall    renew    itself    each    coming 
year. 

From  where  I  sat,  I  could  see  a 
little  graveyard  on  the  hillside,  its 
white  stones  glistening  in  the  sun- 
shine. It  was  a  quiet,  peaceful  spot, 
where,  later  on,  wild  roses  would 
bloom  and  the  long  grass  wave 
above  the  quiet  sleepers.  But  it  was 
not  life:  the  glad  pulsing  life  that 
rushes  from  the  heart  to  redden  the 
cheek:  that  makes  the  bluebird 
sparkle  and  glisten  in  the  sun  — 
filling  his  soft  throat  with  joy.  Oh, 
no,  it  was  something  I  shrank 
from;  yet  knew  I  must  one 
embrace. 

I  turned  my  eyes  quickly  from 
the  spot  and  rested  them  upon  the 
daffodils.  Had  I  not  dug  every 
hole  in  the  black  earth  and  buried 
the  bulbs  myself?  They  slept,  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         33 

arise  in  beauty.  Perhaps,  I  thought, 
so  is  death;  we  shall  arise  clothed 
in  beauty.  I  did  not  pick  one  of  the 
flowers,  because  they  looked  so  glad 
to  be  living. 

Now  put  yourself  in  my  place  this 
gay  spring  morning.  Supposing 
that  there  was  nothing  in  the  world 
that  you  so  delighted  in  as  a  gar- 
den? That  you  dreamed  of  a  gar- 
den and  talked  of  a  garden,  until  it 
was  your  one  hobby  to  mount  and 
ride  upon  all  occasions.  Then,  sup- 
posing a  fairy  prince  should  give 
you  a  great  garden,  to  do  with  just 
as  you  pleased?  I  imagine  you 
would  feel  rather  "  set  up,"  as  the 
English  have  it. 

Now  Max  is  my  fairy  prince,  and 
Tom  Norton's  garden  is  mine.  I 
can  do  as  I  like  in  it;  dig  and  plant 
to  my  heart's  content.  Poor  Max 


34         A  Midsummer  Wooing 


does  not  know  a  hyacinth  from  a 
larkspur  and  little  cares  which  is 
which;  but  he  delights  in  my  hap- 
piness, and  the  garden,  though  not 
a  paradise  to  him,  is  still  the  spot 
where  his  sole  desire  dwells  —  my- 
self. 

I  was  not  thinking  of  him  when 
he  drove  out  for  me  that  night.  In 
truth,  he  hunted  around  a  good  bit 
before  he  found  me.  I  was  over  in 
the  south  swamp  looking  at  a  bed 
of  muck  which  Pat  thought  would 
make  "  foine  dirt":  and  I  wanted 
some  of  it  for  an  old-fashioned 
garden. 

Max  had  to  wait  an  hour  or  more 
before  I  appeared.  He  was  quite 
vexed. 

"  Judith,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you've 
been  traipsing  around  again.  I  have 
hunted  and  waited  for  you  until  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        35 


have  lost  all  patience.  Where  have 
you  been?  " 

"  Why,  over  in  the  south  swamp, 
dear;  and,  Max,  I  saw  a  phoebe. 
The  black-headed  darling  was  in 
the  lowest  branch  of  a  big  basswood 
—  calling  in  the  sweetest  way.  I 
hunted  around  for  his  mate,  but  I 
imagine  she  has  not  yet  come  north ; 
then  I  discovered  a  whole  colony  of 
hepaticas,  as  blue  as  heaven!  and 
after  that,  —  the  sunset  was  incom- 
parable." 

"And  you  watched  it  as  long  as 
you  dared  ?  "  said  Max. 

"Just  as  long  as  I  dared,  dear," 
I  replied,  "but  now  I  am  ready  to 
go  home." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  he  said, 
dryly. 

I  love  my  husband,  but  I  wish, 
oh,  how  I  wish  he  did  take  a  little 


v; 

^f— <- 


36        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


more  interest  in  gardens.  I  talked 
to  him  about  our  garden  all  the  way 
home;  and  I  really  hoped  he  would 
say:  "Judith,  I  will  double  your 
allowance  so  that  you  may  buy 
all  the  seeds  and  plants  you  desire." 
He  said  nothing  of  the  sort;  this 
is  what  he  did  say: 

'  Judith,  I  want  to  give  you  fair 
warning;  if  you  spend  all  your  al- 
lowance for  seeds  and  plants  as  you 
did  last  summer,  you  will  have  to 
go  without  things." 

I  made  no  reply;  for  just  then  I 
was  mentally  calculating  how  many 
plants,  how  many  nasturtiums, 
sweet-pea  seeds  and  other  things  I 
could  get  out  of  a  month's  allow- 
ance. 

I  believe  he  thought  I  felt  hurt, 
for  he  took  my  hand  and  peered 
under  my  broad  -  brimmed  hat. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


'  What's   the  matter,  little  Judith 
Greenslip?"  he  inquired. 

"  Matter  enough,"  I  said 
brusquely:  "I've  got  to  do  all  my 
calculating  over  again.  You've  put 
me  out." 


/   MOVE   INTO 

MY  EARTHLY 

PARADISE 


II 


lEXT  morning  Mr. 
Banbury  was  on 
hand  again,  in 
spite  of  his  ill- 
temper  of  the 
day  before.  As  we  were  moving 
out  —  for  good,  this  time  —  Rhoda 
accompanied  me;  bearing  in  her 
arms  the  gilded  cage  holding  my 
precious  Nancy.  The  remainder  of 
the  plants  we  bestowed  in  the  box 
of  the  "democrat";  then  I  turned 
the  key  in  the  door  of  my  winter 
abode  and  set  out  with  a  light 
heart  for  my  Earthly  Paradise. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        39 

Mr.  Pegleg  —  my  esteemed 
friend  —  came  to  bid  me  good-by. 
The  poor  old  man  looked  sad,  but 
brightened  when  I  told  him  he 
must  surely  visit  me  for  a  whole 
month.  I  left  him  in  charge  of  a 
large  begonia,  as  I  knew  it  would 
please  him  to  think  he  was  doing 
something  for  me. 

Mr.  Pegleg's  body  is  long  past 
eighty,  but  his  spirit  remains 
young  and  delightfully  attractive. 
His  religion  astonishes  me.  He  be- 
lieves that  the  stars  are  other 
worlds  in  which  spirits  dwell.  He 
also  thinks  our  good  things  here 
will  continue  right  on  in  the  next 
life:  say,  if  one  loves  a  garden  on 
this  planet,  why,  a  garden  over 
there.  I  cling  to  this  idea;  for  I 
would  so  much  rather  bear  a  trowel 
than  a  harp.  He  declares  we  can- 


40        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

not  afford  to  be  cross  or  difficult 
here,  lest  it  affect  the  characters  we 
are  building  for  eternity;  and  he 
has  bade  me  always  to  meet  resent- 
ment with  mildness.  I  should  try 
to  oblige  him,  but  for  a  very  incon- 
venient temper.  Isn't  it  strange 
one  should  have  so  much  of  a  thing 
he  does  not  want?  I  assure  you 
Mr.  Pegleg  lives  up  to  his  relig- 
ion. 

I  had  found  I  could  spare  Mrs. 
Sullivan  (the  woman  with  the 
mop)  a  fern;  so  when  we  came 
opposite  her  house  I  climbed  out 
and  took  it  to  her. 

She  was  much  pleased  and  would 
have  me  stay  while  she  boiled  me 
an  egg. 

I  felt  on  pins  and  needles,  know- 
ing Mr.  Banbury's  uncertain  tem- 
per, but  what  can  one  do  when  a 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        41 


nice  Irishwoman  is  bent  on  show- 
ing you  a  courtesy? 

She  said  she  would  run  to  the 
barn  and  get  the  egg  from  under  a 
hen. 

I  told  her  "  No,  no  !  "  but  she  said 
'  Yis,  yis  !  "  so  I  had  to  wait. 

In  the  room  was  a  very  old 
woman  in  a  white  cap  that  frilled 
out  from  her  face  like  a  large  sun- 
flower. She  was  peacefully  smo- 
king a  pipe. 

"  Pwhat's  yer  hurry?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"  Mr.  Banbury  is  waiting,"  I  ex- 
plained. 

"  Is  it  Ben  Banbury  ye  mane, 
pwhat  kapes  a  livery?  Arrah,  lave 
him  wait!  Shure,  'tis  better  plazed 
he'll  be  a-settin'  than  a-joggin'. 
Didn't  I  work  for  his  faither's  fam- 
bly  years  agone  !  A  lazier  b'y  never 


42        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

lived.  Shure,  he'd  as  soon  tak'  a 
dose  o'  pison  an'  die,  as  to  hoe  a 
hill  o'  beans.  Arrah,  lave  him  wait ; 
—  he'll  charge  it  in  the  bill." 

She  looked  dreadfully  wise,  and 
just  then  Mrs.  Sullivan  appeared 
with  the  egg. 

Passing  me,  she  whispered :  "Me 
mither's  ould,  but  she  is  awfu'  cun- 
ning!" 

I  had  respect  for  that  ancient 
dame's  judgment  when  Mr.  Ban- 
bury  presented  his  bill. 

As  it  was  —  to  get  away  —  I  told 
Mrs.  Sullivan  I  liked  my  egg  just 
turned,  and  in  consequence  was 
obliged  to  eat  it  nearly  raw  and  to 
drink  a  "  cup  o'  tay  "  that  scalded 
all  the  way  down. 

When  at  last  I  appeared  and 
climbed  into  the  wagon,  I  really 
felt  guilty;  for  Mr.  Banbury's  face 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        43 

expressed  his  perturbed  spirit.  He 
struck  the  off  horse  a  savage  blow. 

I  felt  a  righteous  indignation. 
"  Mr.  Banbury,"  I  said,  "  because 
you  are  angry  with  me,  there  is  no 
need  that  you  should  strike  your 
horse.  I  have  seen  men  before, 
who  vented  their  temper  in  this 
way  and  I  have  small  respect  for 
them.  A  horse  is  one  of  God's  chil- 
dren and  a  willing  servant  to  man. 
He  has  a  right  to  good  treatment." 

Mr.  Banbury  flecked  the  heads  of 
the  wayside  weeds  with  his  whip; 
I  still  looked  him  straight  in  the 
face,  remembering  Mr.  Pegleg's  re- 
ligion, to  be  earnest  but  not  severe. 

"  I  s'pose  I  ought  not  ter,"  he 
said  at  last;  "but  I  guess  thar's 
pure  cussedness  in  a  man.  You  git 
him  the  least  bit  riled  an'  he's  got 
to  take  it  out  on  somethin'.  I  love 


44         A  Midsummer  Wooing 

bosses  as  well  as  any  one,  but  I 
sometimes  lick  'em  when  they  ain't 
done  nothin'.  Don't  know  what 
makes  me,  'less  it's  pure  cussed- 
ness." 

I  made  no  reply,  for  I  saw  Mr. 
Banbury's  conscience  was  working 
and  I  didn't  wish  to  interrupt  it. 

"  I  s'pose,"  he  remarked  at  last, 
"  you  wouldn't  hit  a  hoss  under  no 
circumstances?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  hit  one  that  had  not 
offended  me,"  I  replied. 

"  S'pose  not,  s'pose  not,"  he  re- 
marked; then  he  reached  down 
into  his  pocket  and  drew  up  a  tar- 
nished silver  tobacco-box,  from 
which  he  extracted,  as  a  comforting 
conclusion,  a  generous  chew. 

The  rest  of  our  journey  was 
passed  in  silence  save  for  Nancy, 
who  gave  several  cheerful  chirps 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        45 

from  her  draped  cage,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  I'm  still  alive." 

As  Pat  was  not  around,  Mr.  Ban- 
bury  helped  me  to  unload  the 
plants.  When  about  to  leave,  he 
said:  "  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Mrs. 
Elliot,  I'll  give  that  hoss  an  extra 
feed  of  oats  when  I  git  home,  that'll 
make  it  up  to  him;  and  I  won't 
lick  him  agin  when  'tain't  neces- 
sary." 

What  more  could  the  poor  man 
say?  I  encouraged  him,  shook  him 
by  the  hand  and  bade  him  a  cheer- 
ful good-by. 

When  Rhoda  and  I  ran  into  the 
house  we  threw  open  the  doors  and 
windows  to  let  in  the  blessed  coun- 
try sunshine.  We  hung  Nancy's 
cage  in  a  sunny  spot  and  Rhoda 
went  to  inspect  the  kitchen. 

"  'Clar'  to  goodness,  Honey,"  she 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


exclaimed,  "  it  do  seem  good  to  git 
whar  yo'  can  snuff  all  de  fresh  air 
yo'  like.  Tse  gwine  straight  to  de 
gayrden  to  see  if  de  mint-bed's 
sprung." 


OUR    VIOLET 
DINNER 


III 


rv 


OME  people  dis- 
like April,  but  I 
see  no  reason  for 
it.  Does  she  not 
whisper  to  all 
tnTE5weF<f  and  call  back  the  birds? 
I  know  she  frowns  and  frets ;  but  the 
violets  are  not  dismayed  by  these 
whims,  nor  am  I.  I  can  cheerfully 
endure  a  few  clouds  if  I  know  the 
sun  will  soon  peep  through,  and 
when  the  birds  keep  singing  in  the 
rain,  why,  pray,  should  I  be  sad? 

I  was  glad  Max  was  not  at  home 
the  day  it  rained  so  hard.    Had  he 

47 


• 


48        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

been,  I  could  not  have  gone  out.  It 
really  seemed  providential  that  he 
started  before  the  first  downpour. 
It  was  his  birthday,  and  Rhoda  and 
I  had  planned  a  little  dinner  for 
him.  I  called  it  a  violet  dinner,  for 
I  intended  going  down  to  the 
swamp  to  pick  some  first  violets 
that  I  had  discovered  growing  on 
a  marshy  bank;  but,  as  I  told  you, 
it  began  to  pour  and  I  was  dis- 
mayed. What  should  I  do?  When 
I  make  a  plan  I  am  not  at  all  in- 
clined to  give  it  up.  I  wandered 
through  the  house  and  looked  out 
of  every  window,  but  it  seemed  just 
as  rainy  in  one  quarter  as  another; 
still,  after  an  hour  or  so  it  slack- 
ened a  little  and  I  decided  it  was  a 
very  old-fashioned  whim  that  keeps 
people  in  the  house  on  account  of 
rain. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         49 

I  told  Rhoda  I  was  going  up  to 
my  room,  for  I  well  know  her  hor- 
ror of  wet  weather;  and  there  I  did 
go  and  read  a  book  for  a  straight 
half-hour,  just  to  convince  my  un- 
pleasant Conscience  that  I  was  not 
telling  a  lie. 

After  I  had  the  creature  fairly 
subdued,  I  slipped  into  my  water- 
proof and  galoshes  and  hurried 
down  the  front  stairs. 

I  fairly  flew  through  the  garden 
path,  across  the  foot-bridge  and 
into  the  grove.  Here,  I  felt  sure, 
Rhoda  could  not  see  me  and  run 
after  me  with  an  umbrella;  so  I 
paused  a  spell,  for  the  long  dim 
aisles  enchanted  me.  Drip,  drip, 
fell  the  rain  down  through  the 
slight  green  leaves,  and  drip,  drip, 
upon  the  unfolding  ferns.  What 
sweet  scents  were  abroad !  I  sniffed 


50         A  Midsummer  Wooing 


them  with  a  hardy  delight.  I  felt 
the  soft  pressure  of  growing  things 
beneath  my  feet  and  saw  the  rain 
ghosts,  mere  wisps  of  mist,  stealing 
through  the  trees. 

"  Rain,  in  the  soft  green  budding  wood, 
Oh,  I  like  to  hear  it  well  — 

Drip,  drip,  drip. 
All  the  thirsty  leaves  can  tell 
How  refreshing  is.  the  day, 
When  the  springtime  rain  has  sway 
In  the  shadowy,  misty  wood." 

Why  had  I  never  before  visited 
the  woods  in  the  rain?  I  took  my- 
self to  task  for  this  lost  pleasure. 
Whenever  I  discover  a  new  delight, 
I  feel  that  I  ought  to  have  known 
it  long  ago.  I  could  have  enjoyed 
so  much  more  of  it,  you  see. 

I  knew  I  must  not  linger  here, 
though  I  longed  to.  I  set  my  face 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        51 

resolutely  toward  an  opening, 
promising  my  reluctant  spirit,  that 
the  very  next  rainy  day  I  would 
come  out  early  and  stay  late.  Soon 
I  was  trailing  through  a  meadow 
path.  I  crossed  several  fields  and 
came  at  length  to  a  lane  bordered 
on  the  left  by  a  wood,  which  leads 
to  the  south  swamp.  I  said  to  my- 
self: "It  is  no  farther  to  go 
through  the  woods  than  by  the 
lane;  why  not  take  the  woods? 
Those  dim  entrances  look  so  de- 
liciously  misty  —  as  if  something 
more  than  usual  lay  beyond  them: 
I  think  I  will  explore."  I  climbed 
the  fence  and  crossed  a  roaring 
brook  on  a  tottering  log;  dropped 
one  of  my  galoshes  in  a  mud-pat; 
recovered  it,  and  was  soon  lost  in 
the  budding  forest. 

Here  I  forgot  everything  but  the 


52        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

good  time  I  was  having.  I  wan- 
dered at  my  own  sweet  will,  down 
one  aisle  and  then  another.  Sud- 
denly —  ahead  of  me  —  a  little 
tongue  of  flame  shot  up  between 
two  tall  trees  and  glowed  like  a 
blood-red  signal.  It  beckoned  me, 
and  I  followed  it  straight  into  a 
camp  of  gypsies. 

Their  canvas  -  covered  wagon 
stood  at  one  side,  and  I  could  see 
the  feet  of  a  recumbent  man  pro- 
truding from  an  end  of  it.  He  was 
asleep,  but  not  so  the  rest  of  the 
band;  they  huddled  around  the 
camp-fire,  cooking  something  in  an 
iron  kettle  which  smelled  extremely 
appetizing.  I  drew  nearer,  al- 
though I  knew  I  ought  to  run 
away.  A  black-haired  gypsy  girl 
caught  sight  of  me  and  beckoned 
cordially. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         53 


"  Come,  pretty  lady,  and  have 
your  fortune  told,"  croaked  an  el- 
derly witch  who  was  tending  the 
kettle. 

Now  who  does  not  long  to  lift 
the  veil  to  the  future  —  that  mys- 
terious, swaying,  impenetrable  veil 
which  hides  from  us  all  the  delight- 
ful things  —  or  maybe,  the  sorrow- 
ful things  —  of  life?  I  am  but  hu- 
man. I  felt  in  the  steel  purse  which 
hung  by  a  chatelaine  to  my  belt, 
and  clasped  in  my  fingers  a  silver 
dollar.  It  was  all  I  happened  to 
have  with  me,  and  I  had  already 
mentally  disposed  of  it  in  the  line  of 
garden  seeds  ;  but  — 

"  Tell  your  fortune,  pretty 
lady?"  The  witch  wiped  her 
hands  on  a  tatter  which  hung  from 
a  bush  and  drew  near  me. 

[<  How  much?"  I  inquired. 


54         A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Only  a  half-dollar,"  she  croaked 
cheerfully. 

I  took  out  my  full  dollar  and 
crossed  her  palm  with  it.  She  con- 
ducted me  to  a  fallen  log,  and  bid- 
ding me  be  seated,  crouched  beside 
me  and  fixed  her  bold,  beady  eyes 
on  my  outstretched  hand. 

She  looked  so  solemn,  so  owl-like, 
that  I  began  to  grow  uneasy.  Sup- 
pose she  should  tell  me  something 
was  going  to  happen  —  Max  to  die 
or  Rhoda  to  leave  me  ?  I  half  drew 
back. 

"  Easy,  easy,"  she  murmured : 
"  I  see,  —  I  see  flowers  in  your 
pathway.  You  love  them  and  they 
are  growing  in  a  garden.  Oh,  my 
pretty  lady,  you  feel  at  home  in 
these  green  woods. 

"  Let  me  see,"  and  she  scanned 
my  hand  closer.  "  Some  day  you 


I  see  —  I  see  flowers  in  your  pathway" 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        55 

will  be  rich  —  a  relative  will  leave 
you  a  fortune  —  but  you  will  not 
be  happier  for  it.  Why,  how  trust- 
ful you  are,  pretty  lady!  Your  life 
is  filled  with  sunshine.  That's  all." 

"It  is  enough,"  I  said,  smiling; 
"  but  tell  me,  truly,  do  you  discover 
a  poorhouse  anywhere  in  my  for- 
tune —  say,  at  the  end  of  it?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  she  answered. 

"Then  take  the  dollar,"  I  said 
boldly.  "  Such  a  fortune  is  worth 
it.  Now  that  I  feel  free  of  the  poor- 
house  I  can  afford  to  give." 

I  stayed  a  whole  hour  in  that 
gypsy  camp  and  ate  some  of  the 
broth  they  cooked  in  the  kettle.  It 
did  not  taste  as  good  as  it  smelled. 
As  the  rain  had  ceased  I  laid  aside 
my  waterproof.  I  was  the  poorer 
for  doing  it.  A  young  gypsy 
maiden  so  admired  my  steel  purse 


56         A  Midsummer  Wooing 

that  I  gave  it  to  her;  and,  as  an- 
other looked  wistfully  at  my  belt, 
I  also  disposed  of  that.  I  felt 
thankful  that  I  had  on  but  my  wed- 
ding band;  for  I  was  forced  to  con- 
vince them  it  would  not  come  off 
my  finger.  They  took  my  comb 
out  of  my  hair,  and  tried  it  suc- 
cessively in  their  dishevelled  locks. 
The  last  one  fell  heir  to  it,  and  I 
began  to  realize,  if  I  had  anything 
left  I  had  better  leave  at  once.  I 
hastily  donned  my  waterproof;  and 
in  spite  of  a  most  cordial  invitation 
to  stop  longer  with  them,  I  hurried 
away. 

One  of  them  caught  the  tatter 
from  the  bush  and  waved  me  a  lov- 
ing farewell;  then  those  cheerful 
robbers  turned  again  to  their  camp- 
fire  and  woodsy  meditations. 

It  was  growing  late  and  I  fairly 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        57 

ran  to  the  south  swamp.  Kneeling 
on  the  soft  turf,  I  picked  violets  for 
dear  life,  being  careful,  though,  not 
to  pull  up  their  tender  roots. 
When  my  basket  was  filled  with 
the  purple  blooms  I  hurried  home. 

Rhoda  met  me  half-way  down 
the  path  to  our  kitchen  garden. 
She  looked  fairly  wild  with  fright. 

'  'Fore  God,  Honey,  I'se  so  wor- 
ried !  "  she  cried.  "  I'se  rarnshacked 
dis  hull  place  for  yo'.  De  grocer 
boy  tole  me  dey  was  gypsies  in  de 
woods  yondah.  I  'clar'  to  good- 
ness, I  feared  dey  done  cotch 
mah  chile.  Whaffor  yo5  bin, 
Honey?" 

"  Just  after  violets,  Rhoda.  See 
what  a  lot  I  have  picked." 

'  Yo'  don'  see  no  gypsies, 
Honey?" 

"Why,  Rhoda?" 


58        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  'Cause,  they'd  cotched  yo', 
shuah!" 

"  See  here,  Rhoda,"  I  said,  "  stop 
worrying.  Am  I  not  back  safe  and 
sound?  While  you  are  talking  the 
ducks  will  burn.  Gypsies,  in- 
deed!" 

I  went  into  the  house  and  up  to 
my  room.  Divesting  myself  of  my 
wet  garments,  I  donned  a  soft  yel- 
low gown  that  Max  likes;  then  I 
went  downstairs.  I  tied  a  yellow 
ribbon  around  the  cat's  neck  and 
draped  all  the  lamps  with  crinkly 
yellow-paper  shades.  Rhoda  al- 
ready had  the  table  set  with  a 
snowy  cloth  and  shining  silver:  it 
only  remained  for  me  to  decorate 
it  with  the  violets.  I  bunched  some 
of  them  loosely  into  low  glass 
bowls,  and  strewed  the  rest  care- 
lessly over  the  cloth.  The  soft  yel- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         59 

low  of  the  lamp-shades  and  the 
purple  tints  of  my  violets  made  a 
charming  harmony.  Then  I  lighted 
the  fire  in  the  great,  cavernous  fire- 
place. It  leaped  up  cheerfully,  fill- 
ing the  room  with  a  warmth  and 
glow,  just  as  the  spiteful  rain,  again 
falling,  struck  against  the  window- 
panes. 

Presently  I  heard  Max's  steps,  — 
he  was  home  in  season.  I  threw 
wide  the  door,  and  as  the  cheerful, 
glowing  picture  caught  his  eye,  his 
dear  face  brightened.  '  This  is 
your  birthday,  old  gentleman,"  I 
said.  "  Give  me  your  coat  and  hat. 
Now  warm  yourself  beside  our 
fire." 

A  little  later  Max  had  dressed 
and  we  were  seated  at  dinner.  On 
the  hearth,  cosily  disposed,  lay  the 
cat  —  her  yellow  ribbon  glowing  in 


60        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


the  firelight.  (I  never  consider  a 
home  picture  quite  complete  with- 
out a  cat.)  Outside,  the  wind  was 
howling  just  as  I  desired  it  should; 
—  whining  round  the  gables  as  if 
envious  of  our  comfort  within.  The 
hardwood  log  glowed  crimson,  and 
the  lamps  gave  forth  a  soft,  serene 
light.  Presently,  the  door  opened 
and  in  walked  Rhoda  in  her  snowy 
turban  and  immaculate  apron.  Her 
black,  shining  face  radiated  satis- 
faction. I  knew  the  dinner  was  a 
triumph.  And  was  not  the  soup 
deliciously  hot  and  spicy;  the  fish 
baked  to  a  turn?  What  tartar 
sauce  like  Rhoda's!  The  ducks 
smothered  in  jelly;  the  aromatic 
tang  of  the  mint  sherbet  ;  the  crisp, 
cold  salad  served  with  tiny  wafers 
dredged  with  cheese  and  a  hint  of 
red  pepper  !  Then  the  famous  Nes- 


a 

icj 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         61 

selrode  pudding  —  made  after  her 
old  missus's  "  recipy  "  in  the  South, 
so  Rhoda  claims;  and,  surely,  it  is 
famously  good.  The  cake,  bearing 
on  its  frosting  the  date  of  Max's 
birth;  the  long  tray  of  lighted  can- 
dles —  I  shall  not  tell  how  many  — 
sat  beside  it;  and  lastly  the  coffee, 
clear  as  amber,  and  a  tiny  mould 
of  cheese  on  a  dainty  plate  beside 
a  fat  cracker.  All  so  good  that  it 
made  one  a  little  lonesome  to  think 
of  Heaven,  where  they  do  not  eat  at 
all. 

I  know  of  nothing  more  hearten- 
ing in  this  world  than  a  good  din- 
ner and  a  cheerful  fire  —  with  the 
one  you  love  best  beside  you.  It  is 
then  you  feel  at  peace  with  all  the 
world  —  and  least  in  love  with 
Heaven.  My  friend,  Mr.  Pegleg, 
believes  that  there  are  private  fire- 


62        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

sides  in  Heaven,  and  I  certainly 
hope  he  is  right.  He  is  an  optimist 
of  a  high  order;  but  he  calls  him- 
self a  spiritualist,  a  very  bad  name 
for  such  a  delightful  belief. 

After  dinner  you  might  have 
seen  Max  and  me  cosily  nestling  in 
one  big  chair,  telling  stories  of  our 
courting  days.  "  Now,  Max,"  I  in- 
quired, "  if  you  can  remember  such 
an  event,  when  do  you  think  you 
first  fell  in  love  with  me?  " 

'*  Why,  the  day,  to  be  sure,  that 
you  called  to  me  from  behind  the 
picket  fence  in  your  father's  gar- 
den. You  said  to  me:  'Say,  boy, 
do  you  love  butter?  '  and  thrust  out 
a  handful  of  buttercups  under  my 
chin  to  catch  their  reflection.  The 
hand  wasn't  overly  clean,  I  remem- 
ber." 

What  did  you  think?" 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         63 

"  Oh,  I  stubbed  my  bare  toe  in 
the  dust  and  said  to  myself:  '  Golly, 
isn't  she  sweet! ' 

"  That  couldn't  really  have  been 
the  time,  Max." 

"  It  was  the  beginning,"  he  de- 
clared stoutly,  "  and  the  next 
time  was  when  you  graduated. 
Do  you  remember  your  essay, 
*  What  the  Sweet  Pea  said  to  the 
Rose?'" 

"Now,  Max!"  I  expostulated, 
for  that  essay  was  always  a  sore 
point  with  me.  I  tried  to  put  my 
hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Hands  off!"  he  cried:  "when 
you  had  gotten  through,  I  didn't 
know  which  I  preferred,  a  sweet 
pea  or  a  rose;  but  I  was  pretty  sure 
you  were  a  delicious  mixture  of  the 
two.  Didn't  I  dream  of  you  that 
night,  all  mixed  up  with  sweet  peas 


64        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


and  roses!  But  tell  me,  when  did 
you  first  fall  in  love  with  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  I  think  it  was  the 
day  you  cuffed  the  grocer  boy  for 
beating  his  horse.  He  had  been 
saucy  to  me;  and  you  did  such  a 
complete  job." 

"  I  remember  it  well." 

"  And  then,"  I  continued,  "  when 
you  went  to  the  woods  and  fetched 
home  a  wheelbarrow  of  good  black 
dirt  for  my  pansy  bed,  I  knew  I 
loved  you." 

We  both  laughed.  Delightful 
old  tales  to  us.  By  and  by  we  grew 
more  serious.  We  counted  up  the 
years  we  had  lived  together  and 
declared  they  had  all  been  good, 
lovely  years.  Not  a  day  or  an  hour 
that  we  wished  to  part  with.  Then 
we  peered  into  the  future  —  down 
that  dim,  misty  path,  which  no  man 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         65 

knoweth  —  but  our  trust  was  in 
the  good  Father  who  surely  gave 
us  the  birthright  of  happiness. 

Before  I  slept  that  night,  I 
sought  the  kitchen.  Beside  the 
snowy  pine  table  sat  Rhoda  knit- 
ting. I  love  her,  love  her  if  she  is 
black  as  ebony;  and  I  said  to  her: 

"  Rhoda,  I  have  come  to  thank 
you  for  the  pleasure  you  have  given 
us.  The  dinner  was  worthy  of  you. 
Every  day  of  your  life  you  add  to 
our  happiness.  Now,  good  night: 
may  your  dreams  be  pleasant  — 
your  sleep  sweet." 

She  looked  at  me  with  the  love 
in  her  eyes  that  I  imagined  she 
used  to  give  her  dead  husband  and 
the  lost  pickaninnies;  yet  there  was 
triumph  in  her  mien: 

"  I'se  learnt  dat  cookin'  in  one  of 
de  fust  famblies  in  de  Souf,  Honey. 


66        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


I  'clar'  to  goodness  dar  ain't  none 
kin  beat  me!  I'se  dretful  pleased 
that  Mr.  Max  liked  his  dinnah;  an' 
yo'  jes'  knows  ole  Rhoda  'ud  crawl 
on  her  han's  an'  knees  to  please 
yo',  Honey." 

Then  Max  and  I  raked  the  ashes 
over  the  fire,  put  out  the  lights  and 
the  cat.  Hand  in  hand  we  climbed 
the  staircase  —  bound  for  sleep. 


SUNSHINE 
AFTER   RAIN 


IV 


OW  glad  one  feels 
after  a  rainy  day, 
to  awake  the  next 
morning  and  find 
the  sun  shining 
as  if  the  sky  had  never  known  a 
cloud!  I  can't  tell  you  how  joy- 
ous I  felt  as  I  hurried  out  of 
bed  and  donned  my  clothes.  A 
bluebird  was  singing  in  a  tree 
near  my  window  and  I  called  to 
him: 

"  You  are  no  happier  than  I,  little 
blue-back." 

Then    I    hastened   down    to   my 

67 


3^ 


68        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

garden,  for  I  knew  the  tulip  bed 
would  be  all  abloom.  It  is  a  gay 
combination  —  a  bed  of  yellow,  red, 
and  white  tulips  with  the  sun  in 
their  silky  cups. 

I  found  Pat  before  me  —  leaning 
on  his  spade,  admiring  them. 

"  They  do  look  grand,"  he  com- 
mented. "  Shure,  it  pays  to  kiver 
'em  well  furninst  the  winter.  By 
me  sowl,  but  they're  purty!  In  the 
ould  kentry  me  uncle  worked  for  a 
juke  pwhat  hed  a  craze  for  tulips. 
One  year  he  planted  tin  thousand 
bulbs  —  think  o'  thot!  Whin  they 
bloomed  in  the  spring,  folks  came 
for  miles  about  to  look  at  'em. 
Such  a  soight!  The  juke  wor  get- 
tin'  ould  thin,  and  he  wor  a-grievin' 
over  the  death  of  his  little  darter; 
but  he  tould  me  uncle,  he  believed 
God  was  good;  else  He  niver  cu'd 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         69 

thought  o'  a  thing  so  gay  as  a 
tulip." 

"  I  know  He  is  good,  don't  you, 
Pat?" 

"  Shure  I  thinks  so,  mum,  whin 
I  sees  all  the  flowers  a-bloomin'  and 
the  birds  springin'  about  joyous 
loike  and  the  sky  so  blue;  but 
whin  I  thinks  of  purgatory  and 
hell  beyant  —  shure,  I  dunno,  I 
dunno." 

"  Don't  think  about  them,  Pat. 
Come,  this  is  our  garden  —  a  spot 
in  the  green  earth  to  enjoy.  There 
may  be  such  places  as  you  speak 
of,  but  I  shall  take  good  care  not 
to  inhabit  them.  See  that  path 
yonder?  It  leads  to  Arcady,  or  in 
other  words,  to  the  hyacinth  bed. 
Come,  tread  it  with  me!  " 

I  ran  gayly  down  the  path,  and 
Pat,  with  that  queer  little  grin  about 


70        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

his  puckery  mouth,  followed  me,  as 
though  in  anticipation. 

It  seems  that  our  hyacinth  bed  is 
in  the  right  spot;  a  sheltered  angle 
of  the  house  just  where  every  wan- 
ton, southern  breeze  can  fan  it.  Its 
fragrance  was  borne  to  me  on  the 
balmy  air  long  before  I  reached  it. 
Early  as  it  was,  Pat  had  already 
tied  up  the  heavy  racemes  of  bloom 
that  the  storm  had  bowed  the  day 
before.  He  knew  I  should  come  to 
worship  here;  that  faithful  old 
man!  As  I  looked  at  these  early 
messengers  of  Spring  —  not  stingy, 
winter-killed  blooms  that  so  often 
adorn  a  garden,  but  large  perfect 
flowers  in  garb  of  deepest  purple, 
palest  pink  and  pearly  white  —  I 
felt  like  one  who  receives  a  just  re- 
ward, a  large  compensation.  Hy- 
acinth bulbs  were  dear  last  fall  and 


Jk=h 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         71 

money  was  scarce;  but  did  I  think 
of  this?  No,  I  ordered  the  largest 
bulbs  possible;  paid  for  them  at  the 
sacrifice  of  a  winter  bonnet ;  planted 
them  with  faith  in  honest  soil:  and 
now,  when  my  winter  bonnet  (had 
I  bought  it)  would  be  worn  out, 
here  is  this  glorious  bed  of  hya- 
cinths upon  which  to  feast  my  eyes 
—  to  glorify  my  soul.  "  I  thank 
God,"  I  cried  aloud,  "  that  I  was 
wise! " 

Pat,  seeing  me  lost  in  rapture, 
shouldered  his  spade  and  walked 
away. 

As  Max  would  not  rise  for  an 
hour  yet,  I  had  plenty  of  time  to 
enjoy  myself.  I  found  a  bench  and 
drew  it  close  to  the  hyacinth  bed. 
I  thought  at  first  I  should  do  noth- 
ing but  admire  the  hyacinths. 
However,  man  proposes  and  God 


72        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


disposes.  I  could  not  guess  that 
this  was  to  be  a  great  morning  for 
me,  but  so  it  proved. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  Two 
healthy,  clean-breasted  robins  ran 
along  the  path  before  me,  evidently 
absorbed  in  discussion.  I  could  not 
help  noticing  them;  they  appeared 
so  well  groomed  and  so  self-reliant. 
"Maybe,"  I  thought,  "here  are  a 
couple  of  aristocrats  looking  for  a 
home.  Well,  there  is  that  slender 
maple  yonder." 

As  if  in  answer  to  my  suggestion, 
they  flew  into  that  very  tree.  I  saw 
them  search  diligently  among  the 
high  branches,  then  perch  side  by 
side  on  a  lower  limb  to  talk  it  over. 

Mr.  Robin  was  somewhat  de- 
cided in  his  conversation;  for  he 
chirped  so  loudly  I  knew  there  was 
a  difference  in  opinion. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         73 

His  wife  listened  to  him  with 
seeming  deference;  but  at  the  end, 
took  up  the  conversation,  in  a  lower 
tone,  to  be  sure,  but  with  true  fem- 
inine persistence.  Her  spouse 
shook  his  head  and  flapped  his 
wings  in  derision;  but  I  am  happy 
to  say  she  held  on,  and  I  do  believe 
in  the  end  had  her  own  way;  for 
she  flew  to  the  top  of  the  tree  — 
he  following.  Presently  I  saw  them 
both  start  forth  in  search  of  build- 
ing material. 

Then  an  inspiration  seized  me. 
It  was  my  first  attempt  at  poetry, 
but  what  of  that?  Is  there  not 
always  a  first  time?  I  really  com- 
posed the  following  lines: 

Ho!  robin  redbreast,  I've  been  looking  out 

for  you; 
I  have  it  marked,  my  birdie,  the  day  that 

you  are  due; 


74        -4  Midsummer  Wooing 


I  see  your  red  vest  shining,  I  hear  your  cheery 
call; 

Aren't  you  glad,  dear  robin,  'tis  spring  in- 
stead of  fall? 

Here's  my  same  old  maple  with  all  its  boughs 

to  rent; 
It  has  been  standing  empty,  dear  robin,  since 

you  went. 
Come,  let  us  strike  a  bargain:    'tis  yours  all 

summer  long, 
If  you'll  only  promise  to  pay  the  rent  in  song. 

I  ran  to  the  house  and  met  Max 
in  the  doorway.  He  spoke  to  me, 
but  I  put  a  finger  to  my  lips  in  a 
mysterious  fashion  and  sped  up- 
stairs. 

It  took  me  a  few  moments  to  find 
paper  and  pencil;  and  I  was  afraid 
that  the  feet  in  the  meter  would 
walk  away  with  that  poem  before 
I  could  jot  it  down.  However,  I 
succeeded,  and  a  prouder  woman 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         75 

never  seated  herself  at  a  breakfast 
table. 

I  could  scarcely  eat  for  thinking 
of  my  high  estate.  A  poet  has 
always  seemed  to  me  an  individual 
who  resides  in  a  steeple.  I  was 
really  afraid  Max.  would  not  inquire 
into  the  matter,  so  I  hinted  about 
some.  I  asked  him  if  he  believed 
poets  were  born  so,  or  acquired  the 
art. 

"  Born  so,"  he  said. 

"  Could  any  one  suddenly  de- 
velop into  a  poet  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  hardly,"  he  replied. 

Then  I  asked  him  what  he  would 
do,  should  he  discover  a  poet  in  his 
family  ? 

He  looked  a  little  suspicious  and 
said  dryly,  "  I  hope  it  will  never 
come  to  that." 

"  But    it    has,"    I    cried    trium- 


76        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


phantly  —  and 
poem. 

He  read  it  very  seriously,  then 
laid  it  down. 

"Well?"  I  asked  timidly. 

"  Gardener,"  he  said,  "  I  should 
advise  you  to  go  out  and  sow  your 
pease  and  plant  your  cabbages; 
the  day  is  fair." 

And  this  is  all  the  consolation  I 
got  from  him. 


A   SUGGESTION 

FOR   A 
SUMMER-HOUSE 


V 


E  had  not  been 
settled  a  week 
in  our  country 
home,  when  I  re- 
ceived a  letter 
from  the  young  man  who  is  inter- 
ested in  Priscilla  Brown,  a  neigh- 
bour of  mine. 

He  wrote  to  ask  how  the  garden 
was  getting  along.  He  said  he  had 
thought  a  good  deal  about  my  gar- 
den and  suggested  that  I  should 
build  a  summer-house  in  it.  He 
had  seen  just  the  right  sort  of  sum- 
mer-house last  year;  a  simple  af- 

77 


ffl 


78        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


fair,  only  large  enough  for  two 
people.  It  was  fashioned  out  of 
poles  set  in  a  circle  like  an  Indian's 
wigwam,  and  completely  covered 
with  scarlet  runners.  How  pretty 
it  would  look  in  my  garden! 
"  Should  he  come  on,  pay  me  a  little 
visit,  and  help  to  build  it?  " 

At  the  end  of  the  letter  he  in- 
quired about  Priscilla  Brown  and 
her  violet  house.  He  hoped  she 
was  well,  and  had  gotten  rich  out 
of  the  violets.  It  was  a  very  crafty 
letter,  and  did  not  in  the  least  de- 
ceive me;  but  as  I  like  the  young 
man,  I  hastened  to  answer  it. 

I  told  him  there  was  nothing  in 
the  world  I  should  like  better  than 
just  such  a  summer-house.  He 
must  come  on  without  delay:  for 
every  hour  hindered  the  scarlet 
runners  from  growing.  I  had  al- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing         79 


ready  sent  for  the  seed  and  Pat  was 
cutting  the  poles.  If  he  got  here 
soon,  by  July  the  vines  would  com- 
pletely cover  the  summer-house.  It 
should  be  built  just  large  enough 
for  two  people.  They,  no  doubt, 
would  be  MSLX  and  myself. 

That  afternoon  I  went  over  to 
tell  Priscilla  Brown  about  this  sum- 
mer-house. I  knew  she  would  feel 
a  real  interest  in  it.  She  was  not 
at  home,  having  driven  to  town 
with  her  father.  However,  Be- 
linda, their  hired  girl,  had  a  tale 
of  woe  to  pour  into  my  ears.  She 
told  me  that  the  violet  house  I  had 
stocked  for  Priscilla  Brown  last 
fall,  had  given  her,  Belinda,  the 
lumbago.  "  Taking  that  with  my 
fits,"  said  poor  Belinda,  "  it  was 
enough  to  set  me  crazy.  God  o* 
mercy,  what  good  air  vi'lets!  I'd 


80        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


ruther  have  one  hen  a-layin'  eggs 
than  a  hull  green-house  full  o'  vi'- 
lets.  Thar's  more  profit  in  it." 
Then  she  told  me  they  had  picked 
but  ten  violets  all  that  winter;  and 
according  to  her  calculation,  had 
burned  at  least  twenty  dollars' 
worth  of  coal  to  blossom  those 
flowers. 

I  felt  quite  downcast  at  the  news, 
but  I  reflected  that  had  it  not  been 
for  this  same  violet  house,  Mr. 
Warren,  who  was  visiting  Max  at 
the  time,  might  never  have  met 
Priscilla  Brown.  Where  then 
would  be  the  charming  romance  I 
saw  hovering  so  delightfully  in  the 
near  future?  Fate,  in  her  mys- 
terious way,  is  often  unkind,  and  I 
truly  pitied  Belinda  for  her  long 
winter  of  profitless  toil;  still,  I 
could  not  see  that  I  was  to  blame. 


™ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        8.1 

I  had  done  all  for  the  best;  so  I 
smiled  serenely  and  turned  the  con- 
versation to  the  hen-house. 

The  hen-house,  in  which  I  also 
took  an  interest,  was  a  success,  Be- 
linda said:  the  chickens  had  been 
real  warm  and  comfortable  and  the 
hens  had  laid  all  winter.  "  I  don't 
know  what  we'd  'a'  done  without 
the  eggs,"  she  whispered,  "  for  with 
buyin'  coal  for  them  dum  vi'lets 
and  master's  experimentin',  we'd  'a' 
like  to  starved." 

I  told  her  I  felt  thankful  some- 
thing had  turned  out  right,  then  I 
ate  one  of  her  hot  ginger  cookies 
(she  was  baking),  and  telling  her 
to  send  her  mistress  to  see  me  in 
the  morning,  I  started  for  home. 

The  walk  home  was  glorious.  It 
was  the  first  of  May:  the  woods  in 
their  vernal  tints  were  almost  as 


82        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


gorgeous  as  in  autumn.  The  ma- 
ples were  all  in  pink  and  the  oaks 
in  gray.  The  young  beech  leaves 
shone  so  softly  green  that  they 
seemed  like  filtered  sunshine ;  while 
the  chestnut  leaves  were  dyed  a 
ruddy  brown.  Among  them,  as  a 
foil  to  all  this  loveliness,  rose  dark 
hemlocks,  and  here  and  there  a 
silvery  pine. 

Robins,  bluebirds,  and  phoebes 
were  singing  about,  and  as  I  came 
down  to  the  water's  edge  to  enter 
my  boat,  I  caught  sight  of  a  loon. 
He  dove  under  water  the  instant  he 
saw  me  —  just  as  if  I  carried  a  gun 
and  were  his  deadly  enemy.  Is  it 
not  sad  our  dumb  relations  have  so 
little  trust  in  us? 

I  thought  a  good  deal  about  the 
loon  as  I  rowed  across  the  lake.  I 
wondered  if  his  wife  had  come 


• 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        83 


north  yet.  It  seems  that  the  male 
and  female  loons  do  not  travel  to- 
gether. He  must  come  first  and 
she  follow.  Birds  have  some 
strange  notions.  The  bluebirds  and 
the  phoebes  do  the  same  thing  — 
leave  their  wives  behind  and  arrive 
north  several  days  earlier.  Who 
knows  but  somewhere  on  the  route 
the  males  hold  a  great  convention 
from  which  the  females  are  de- 
barred? When  one  gets  to  reading 
about  birds  and  observing  them,  he 
finds  they  have  their  little  idiosyn- 
crasies just  the  same  as  the  human 
family. 

Thinking  about  birds,  reminded 
me  of  a  species  of  my  own  —  Tom 
Norton's  rooster.  Pat  had  taken 
him  home  last  fall  in  a  basket  for 
the  winter.  He  had  also  taken  the 
cat  and  returned  her,  but  the  rooster 


84        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

was  still  in  his  possession.  That 
bird  was  truly  a  trial  to  me  — 
scratching  up  my  flower  beds  and 
watching  me  every  time  I  sowed  a 
seed.  I  had  half  a  mind  to  let  Pat's 
spouse  make  him  into  a  soup;  but 
as  usual,  my  troublesome  con- 
science said,  "  nay."  I  could  but 
remember  how  well  he  enjoyed  liv- 
ing. What  sleek,  mottled  gray 
feathers  he  had,  and  how  knowing 
was  the  look  in  his  sly  eye.  No, 
I  could  not  allow  him  to  be  reduced 
to  soup,  merely  to  fatten  an  indi- 
vidual who  was  too  fat  already.  He 
should  return  to  his  own  domain 
and  I  would  buy  a  hen  to  mate  with 
him.  The  hen  would  lay  an  egg 
every  morning  —  that  would  be 
thirty  eggs  a  month;  and  eggs 
were,  let  me  see,  at  least  forty  cents 
a  dozen.  Why!  the  sale  of  those 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        85 


eggs  would  more  than  pay  for  the 
seeds  they  could  both  scratch  up 
and  leave  me  a  tidy  little  surplus 
besides.  I  should  be  making 
money.  The  sooner  that  rooster 
returned  and  I  bought  a  hen,  the 
better  for  me.  The  woman  to 
whom  I  gave  the  geraniums  kept 
fowls;  I  decided  that  I  would  buy 
one  of  her. 

By  the  time  I  had  decided  this 
weighty  question,  I  was  at  home. 
Rhoda  met  me  at  the  door.  I  could 
see  she  was  excited,  for  her  turban 
was  awry.  In  one  hand  she  held 
a  letter. 

"  De  postman  lef  dis,  Honey," 
she  said.  "  He  say  it  war  directed 
to  me." 

"  So  it  is,  Rhoda ;  shall  I  read 
it  to  you?" 

"  Yes'm,  Honey." 


86 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


I  opened  the  letter  and  read: 

"  *  To  Missus  RHODA  THOMPKINS: 

"  '  Dis  is  writ  to  let  yo'  know,  dat 
yoah  only  sister,  Polly  Lutetia,  is 
daid.  She  haf  lef  one  chile,  Ara- 
minta  Sprangleberry.  What  shall 
be  done  wif  her? 

"  '  Yours  in  de  Lord, 

" '  PARSON  CHITTENDEN.'  ' 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  poor 
Rhoda's  face  and  I  pitied  her. 

"  Read  dat  agin,"  she  said  in  a 
choked  voice. 

I  repeated  the  sad  news.  The 
poor  thing  threw  her  apron  over 
her  head  and  fled  to  the  kitchen. 

I  sat  for  a  long  time  in  the  early 
dusk  thinking  how  sad  death  is  — 
what  a  robber  in  a  world  of  love 
and  happiness!  No  matter  how 
fortunate  or  unfortunate  one  is,  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        87 


end  is  always  the  same.  Then  I 
thought  of  a  little  story  Mr.  Peg- 
leg  had  told  me. 

He  said :  "  When  people  die  their 
spirits  do  not  go  far  away.  There 
is  a  place  called  the  border-land 
where  they  wait  for  their  earth- 
friends  to  come  over.  It  is  a  beau- 
tiful place;  and  there  are  many 
camp-fires  there.  We  all  have  some 
loved  one  waiting.  When  we  come 
to  die,  these  spirits  return  to  earth, 
they  hover  around  the  bedside  and 
cheer  the  departing  one;  and  this 
is  the  reason  so  few  people  are 
afraid  to  die;  they  see  friends  be- 
side them." 

A  comforting  belief  and  worthy 
of  Mr.  Pegleg. 

I  told  this  little  story  to  Rhoda, 
but  she  said: 

"  Sho,  missus,  dat's  too  good  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


be  true!  When  peoples  die  dey 
sleeps,  and  nebber  wakes  up  'til 
dey  hayr  Gabriel's  trumpet  a-tootin' 
in  deir  ears." 


&£ 


SWEET 
PRISCILLA 


VI 


IE  EN  Priscilla 
Brown  appeared 
next  morning,  I 
took  a  little  time 
to  admire  her, 
for  I  dote  on  a  pretty  girl;  and 
Priscilla  is  the  prettiest  girl  I  have 
ever  known.  It  is  very  lucky  that 
her  mother  was  an  actress  and  left 
her  a  wardrobe;  for  where  now 
could  one  procure  such  fetching 
frocks  as  Priscilla  wears? 

To-day  she  was  dressed  in  a  vio- 
let broadcloth,  with  a  short,  tight- 
fitting  velvet  coat  of  a  darker  hue. 

89 


90        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

The  coat  was  trimmed  with  bands 
of  yellow  lace  and  caught  together 
at  the  breast  by  the  palest  turquoise 
I  ever  saw,  set  in  an  antique  clasp 
of  dull  gold.  Her  hat  was  of  ecru 
straw,  its  brim  laden  with  Parma 
violets.  Perhaps  she  wore  this  cos- 
tume in  honour  of  the  violet  house. 
It  was  not  the  sort  of  gown  I  should 
choose  for  a  morning  visit,  but  I 
felt  thankful  in  my  heart  that  Pris- 
cilla  Brown  was  too  poor  to  be  con- 
ventional. These  wonderful  cos- 
tumes were  worn  from  necessity 
and  not  from  choice. 

When  I  had  gotten  over  my  first 
enthusiasm,  I  led  her  to  the  foot 
of  the  garden  and  pointed  to  a  va- 
cant spot. 

"  I  am  to  have  a  new  gardener," 
I  said,  "  and  he  is  to  build  me  a 
summer-house  yonder." 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        91 


"Has  Pat  left  you?"  she  in- 
quired, innocently. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  but  my  new  gar- 
dener is  a  self-installed  one.  He 
has  asked  the  privilege  of  building 
this  summer  -  house  —  just  large 
enough  to  hold  two  people.  I  am 
to  help  him,  and  you  are  to  come 
over  and  look  on,  to  see  that  it  is 
all  right." 

She  began  to  blush,  and  I  knew 
that  the  truth  was  out. 

I  gave  her  a  little  hug  and 
dropped  the  subject;  for,  in  love 
affairs,  one  cannot  be  too  cautious. 
A  match-maker  had  best  look  out. 

We  walked  all  through  the  gar- 
den and  Priscilla  was  delighted 
with  my  daffodils  and  the  tulip  bed. 
She  said  she  had  never  seen  a  gayer 
sight.  I  picked  her  a  bunch  of  daf- 
fodils, for  I  had  a  fancy  to  see  them 


92        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


against  her  violet  gown.  They 
certainly  enhanced  the  picture. 
When  we  came  to  the  hyacinth  bed 
she  bent  over  it  a  long  time,  and  I 
could  see  that  her  mind  was  uneasy. 

"  I  fear,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you 
will  think  it  strange,  when  I  tell 
you  that  my  violets  were  not  a  suc- 
cess. Something  seemed  to  ail 
them  from  the  first." 

"  Do  not  worry,  dear,"  I  replied ; 
"  Belinda  has  told  me." 

She  looked  relieved. 

"But  did  Belinda  tell  you  all?" 
she  asked  presently;  "did  she  say 
that  we  uprooted  the  plants  and 
took  down  the  benches?  You  see 
father  is  perfecting  his  aeroplane 
and  he  thought  the  orchid  house 
would  be  just  the  place  in  which 
to  set  it  up.  Nothing  else  was  large 
enough." 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        93 

In  fancy  I  drew  a  picture  of 
Hetty  Brown's  orchid  house  shel- 
tering this  unstable  steed.  First, 
those  strange  growths  of  air  and 
moisture;  then  the  ungrateful  vio- 
lets; now,  —  well,  was  it  not  truly 
a  castle  of  the  air? 

I  smiled.  "  I  dare  say  you  were 
wise,  dear,  as  long  as  the  violets  did 
not  pay,  to  use  the  house  for  other 
purposes." 

By  this  time  we  were  at  the  gate, 
and  I  watched  her  walk  away  — 
holding  the  daffodils  in  one  hand 
loosely  against  her  violet  gown; 
then  I  turned  back  to  the  house,  put 
on  my  hat  and  sallied  forth  to  buy 
a  hen. 

Mrs.  Sullivan  was  delighted  to 
see  me.  With  great  pride  she 
showed  me  the  geraniums  all  grow- 
ing nicely  and  the  fern  green  and 


94        A  Midsummer  Wooing 

vigorous.  When  I  told  her  my 
errand,  she  said  I  could  have  my 
pick  of  the  hens. 

We  went  out  into  the  back  yard. 
She  took  a  pan  of  feed  with  her  and 
called  the  fowls.  They  all  came 
running  on  dreadfully  energetic 
legs ;  and  it  was  really  touching  to 
note  how  highly  they  regarded  her. 

There  were  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  hens,  and  I  was  rather  puz- 
zled to  know  what  one  to  take.  At 
last  I  chose  a  very  proud-looking 
one  with  a  red  topknot  and  black 
and  white  feathers.  It  was  a  small 
fowl,  a  trim,  neat  little  mate  for  my 
tall  Shanghai.  How  lordly  and 
protecting  he  would  look  beside 
her.  Mike,  Mrs.  Sullivan's  young- 
est son,  undertook  to  run  her  down 
for  me.  It  was  a  hard  task,  but  at 
last  he  triumphed  and  brought  her 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        95 


to  me  by  her  two  legs  —  she 
squawking  vigorously. 

I  promised  the  lad  some  money  if 
he  would  carry  her  home  for  me, 
and  pressing  upon  Mrs.  Sullivan  a 
dollar  for  my  purchase,  we  set  out. 

It  did  seem  as  if  that  hen  had  an 
unusual  voice  —  so  loud  and  stri- 
dent. I  began  to  fear  that  if  she 
did  not  cease  squawking  she  would 
be  afflicted  with  bronchitis.  She 
kept  it  up  all  the  way  home  and 
everybody  we  met  smiled;  while  a 
horse  driven  by  an  old  lady  shied 
and  nearly  ran  away  with  her.  I 
could  not  help  reflecting,  afterward, 
that  if  the  horse  had  run  away  and 
killed  the  old  lady  I  might  now  be 
uncomfortably  lodged  in  jail.  I  de- 
termined if  I  ever  bought  another 
hen  to  box  her  up  before  I  moved 
her. 


96        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


When  I  reached  home  I  showed 
my  purchase  to  Pat. 

He  looked  doubtful  and  there 
was  a  queer  little  twinkle  in  his 
Irish  eyes. 

"  Shure,  ye'se  knows  best,  mis- 
sus," he  said;  "but  begorra,  why 
did  ye  buy  a  guinea  hen  to  mate  wid 
a  Shanghai  rooshter?" 

Next  day  Pat  returned  that  hen, 
bringing  back  a  suitable  mate  with 
longer  legs,  a  weaker  voice  and 
plainer  feathers. 


THE 

OLD-FASHIONED  VII 
GARDEN 


AWOKE  early 
this  morning,  for 
I  knew  some- 
thing very  pleas- 
ant was  going  to 
happen.  To-day,  I  should  plant  my 
old-fashioned  garden. 

The  very  thought  of  an  old- 
fashioned  garden  puts  one's  blood 
in  a  tingle.  As  I  went  lightly  down 
the  stairs  I  half  felt  the  invisible 
presence  of  one  who  loved  flowers 
—  my  grandmother. 

Here  was  I,  her  grandchild,  de- 
siring to  have  a  garden  just  like 

97 


98        A  Midsummer  Wooing 


hers.  Not  leading,  to  be  sure,  from 
the  front  gate  to  the  house;  mine 
should  lead  from  the  back  door 
down  to  the  brook:  still,  there 
would  be  the  same  stiff  box-bor- 
dered beds,  and  all  the  flowers  she 
had  loved  growing  in  them. 

Let  me  see;  just  as  you  opened 
the  gate,  to  the  right,  was  the  gar- 
den heliotrope,  sending  forth  such 
a  delicious  odour  to  welcome  you, 
and  next  to  it  were  the  button 
roses,  red  and  white,  growing  in 
chubby  little  clusters;  then  a  bunch 
of  variegated  ribbon  grass  (some 
people  call  it  gardener's  garters) 
growing  so  stiff  that  it  always  re- 
minded me  of  a  milliner's  stall. 
After  that,  the  pale  pink  and  the 
deep  blue  Canterbury  bells  and  the 
clumps  of  lemon  lilies.  Just  be- 
yond grew  tall  blue  larkspur  and  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing        99 

white  and  crimson  glow  of  phlox; 
the  bleeding-heart,  that  always 
bloomed  so  early  in  the  spring;  the 
mourning  brides  and  the  gay  sweet- 
William  (my  grandmother's  de- 
light), then  the  single  yellow  roses 
that  smelled  like  cinnamon;  the  big 
red  peonies  that  flaunted  in  the  sun 
and  the  stately  blue  and  lavender 
flower-de-luce;  the  pinks  and  the 
misty  candytuft;  and  so  on  up  to 
the  wide  old  porch  where  the  climb- 
ing boursalt  rose  ended  the  proces- 
sion. 

Down  on  the  other  side  were  the 
double  buttercups,  the  flowering 
almond,  the  spicy-scented  southern- 
wood, the  bridal  wreath,  polyan- 
thus, cockscomb,  and  prince's- 
feather,  the  myrtle  and  the  bal- 
sam, love  in  a  mist,  rosemary  and 
feverfew,  wallflowers  and  mari- 


100      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

golds;  —  clear  down  to  the  gate 
where  stood  the  flowering  currant 
bush,  bearing  its  sweet-scented  yel- 
low clusters  in  summer  and  pun- 
gent black  berries  in  fall. 

Oh,  I  remember  it  well,  my 
grandmother's  garden,  and  this 
fresh  spring  morning  I  thought 
tenderly  of  this  forebear,  and  won- 
dered if  in  some  other  kindly  world 
she  were  not  a  hardy,  ruddy  angel, 
bearing  a  trowel  instead  of  a  harp; 
working  in  some  spiritual  garden 
with  the  same  zest,  the  same  joyous 
satisfaction  that  she  felt  among  her 
posies  here?  What  more  of  a 
heaven  could  one  ask?  Still  I 
thanked  God  there  were  gardens  on 
earth  to  be  planted,  and  I  was  not 
yet  dead. 

I  found  Pat  before  me,  eager  and 
anxious  to  get  to  work.  What  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      101 

like  about  this  little  Irishman  is  his 
zest  for  doing  things.  When  I 
have  a  plan  on  hand  he  always  en- 
ters into  it,  and  this  is  more  than 
I  can  say  of  any  one  else  in  the 
world.  For  true  sympathy,  give 
me  Pat. 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye, 
missus,"  said  he;  "an'  is  it  the 
ould-fashioned  garden  we'll  be 
after  makin'  to-day?" 

"It  is,  Pat,"  I  said;  "fetch  the 
plants." 

When  Pat  produced  the  huge 
basket  of  plants  I  had  ordered,  I 
looked  over  the  list  and  found  all 
complete.  Those  obliging  florists 
had  done  their  best  to  please  me, 
but  —  well  —  I  hoped  the  bill  would 
not  cost  me  my  summer's  ward- 
robe. 

As  Pat  began  to  rake  the  long 


102      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

beds  and  I  to  mark  the  places  for 
the  flowers,  I  really  wished  that  I 
were  a  Christian  Scientist.  How- 
ever, I  remembered  that  one  of 
their  rules  was  always  to  put  a 
good  thought  in  place  of  a  bad  one ; 
so  I  hastened  to  think  the  florists' 
bill  would  surely  please  me,  instead 
of  shock  me. 

I  held  that  thought,  firmly,  while 
I  plunged  a  root  of  box  into  a  hole 
and  packed  the  soil  about  it.  It 
certainly  helped  me;  for  soon  all 
my  worries  vanished.  I  forgot  the 
bills  and  became  a  mere  gardener, 
toiling  in  the  good  brown  earth, 
with  an  eye  for  distances,  a  love  for 
nature,  and  a  soul  set  to  an  old- 
fashioned  garden. 

I  had  been  at  work  an  hour  or 
more  when  I  looked  up  and  beheld 
a  sombre-robed  individual  standing 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       103 

beside  me.  He  wore  a  long  coat 
and  a  silk  hat.  I  knew  it  was  a 
minister.  I  had  seen  him  before; 
and  really,  his  visit  seemed  uncalled 
for.  I  wondered  how  he  got  in. 
Where  were  Rhoda's  wits?  Of  all 
days  in  the  world  this  was  the  one 
I  least  cared  to  pay  attention  to  my 
soul. 

"  Good  morning,  gardener,"  he 
said  in  a  rich  bass  voice. 

I  rose  hastily  and  dusted  the  soil 
from  my  hands.  I  felt  obliged  to 
be  polite.  "  Shall  we  go  in  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"Not  I,"  he  replied,  "I  have 
come  to  see  your  garden." 

"  Have  you,"  I  said,  my  resent- 
ment abating  a  trifle. 

"  That  I  have.  There  is  nothing 
I  so  delight  in  as  a  garden.  Was 
it  not  Bacon  who  said: 


104       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

" '  A  garden  is  the  purest  of 
pleasure,  it  is  the  greatest  refresh- 
ment to  the  spirit  of  man.'  Tell  me 
what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  am  planting  an  old-fashioned 
garden,  such  as  my  grandmother 
used  to  love." 

"  Indeed,"  he  said,  "  I  remember 
a  beautiful  poem  about  such  a  gar- 
den." 

"Can  you  not  repeat  it?"  I 
asked. 

"  Perhaps ;  I  think  it  was  some- 
thing like  this: 

"  I  know  of  a  haunted  garden  where  the  old- 
time  flowers  grow. 

There  are  hollyhocks  and  lilies  in  a  long  and 
stately  row; 

There  are  lilac-trees  by  the  gateway,  and  roses 
white  and  red, 

And  the  southernwood's  spicy  fragrance  fol- 
lows the  careless  tread; 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       105 


A  memory-haunted  garden,  out  of  life's  busy 

way, 
Where  the  spell  of  vanished  summers  lingers 

the  livelong  day. 

"  The  hands  that  planted  these  flowers  have 

mouldered  back  to  dust, 
But  their  hearts  are  true  and  steadfast,  and 

they  seem  to  hold  in  trust 
The  memories  of  the  old  time,  and  those 

whom  men  forget. 
Perhaps  for  the  lilac  and  Lily  the  dead  are 

living  yet. 
Those  whom  our  eyes  ,can  not  see  may  tend 

them  still  —  who  knows 
Of  the  strange,  sweet  secrets  hidden  in  the 

red  heart  of  the  rose? 

"  Does  grandmother  come  to  gather  the  pinks 

and  the  pansies  still 
From  the  grave  which  kind  hands  made  her 

in  the  churchyard  on  the  hill, 
Does  she  know  when  the  lilacs  blossom  that 

she  planted  long  ago? 
The  question  must  go  unanswered,  but  I  fancy 

it  may  be  so, 


106       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

And  so,  from  the  dear  old  garden  not  a  flower 

I  take  away, 
But  leave  them  all  to  be  gathered  by  the  hands 

that  are  dust  to-day." 

A  little  silence  fell  between  us. 
Perhaps  we  were  both  thinking  of 
the  dead.  I  was  the  first  to  break 
the  stillness. 

"  My  grandmother  dearly  loved 
flowers,"  I  said.  "  This  garden  is 
to  her  memory." 

"That  is  a  sweet  thought,"  he 
returned.  "  Come,  let  me  help  you 
plant  it." 

"  Oh,  you  couldn't,"  I  said  doubt- 
fully ;  "  you  will  soil  the  knees  of 
your  trousers." 

"  Isn't  there  a  bit  of  rug  I  could 
kneel  on?  "  he  asked. 

"  Shure,  there's  a  piece  of  ould 
carpet,"  said  Pat. 

"  Get  it  for  me,  please,"  and  five 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       107 

minutes  later,  the  Rev.  Amos  Sim- 
mons and  myself  were  kneeling  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  flower  bed  — 
he  holding  the  plants  steady  while 
I  piled  the  earth  around  them  until 
it  supported  them. 

Once,  my  straw  sailor  knocked 
against  his  silk  hat  and  ruffled  it 
some,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  vex 
him.  He  began  to  talk  in  a  way 
about  flowers  that  opened  my  eyes 
with  astonishment. 

"  How  did  you  get  in?  "  I  asked 
at  length. 

"  Why,  I  came  through  the  fields 
yonder  and  across  the  little  foot- 
bridge. I  saw  you  in  church  last 
Sunday." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  just  happened 
there." 

"  Aren't  you  coming  next  Sun- 
day?" he  inquired. 


108       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered  vaguely. 

"  You  must,  for  you  will  be  inter- 
ested. I  am  going  to  speak  about 
the  flowers." 

"  Then  I  will  be  there."  I  planted 
my  trowel  in  the  ground  and  looked 
at  him.  "  I  wonder,"  I  said,  "  how 
you  came  to  preach  in  that  little 
country  church?" 

"  Easy  enough,"  he  replied 
lightly.  "  I  have  had  a  charge  in 
New  York  for  some  years,  but  this 
spring  my  health  became  rather 
shaky  and  I  decided  to  take  a  rest. 
I  have  rented  a  small  farm  near 
here,  and  as  the  church  needed  a 
minister,  why,  I  offered  to  fit  in 
for  a  spell.  That's  all." 

"  How  long  shall  you  live  on 
your  farm?  " 

'  Maybe  a  year,   perhaps   more. 
Anyway,    until    I    feel    well    and 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       109 

strong  again.  Pray,  tell  me  the 
proper  time  to  plant  cabbages.  Do 
you  go  by  the  moon?  " 

That  we  were  going  to  be  good 
friends,  I  soon  decided.  I  told  him 
all  I  knew  about  cabbages,  and  a 
few  other  things  beside. 

He  stayed  until  the  last  plant  was 
anchored  in  the  earth,  then  he  rose 
to  go;  but  I  detained  him  to  show 
him  the  garden. 

When  at  last  he  stood  upon  the 
foot-bridge,  ready  to  cross  the 
fields,  I  said  to  him: 

"  What  do  you  call  your  gar- 
den?" 

"The  New  Eden,"  he  returned; 
"  and  may  I  ask  what  you  call 
yours? " 

"An  Earthly  Paradise,"  I  re- 
plied. "  I  think,"  I  said,  smiling, 
"  the  Earthly  Paradise  can  spare 


110      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


some  plants  for  the  New  Eden. 
Pat  shall  dig  you  a  basketful.  To- 
morrow, you  must  set  them  out,  and 
the  next  day  you  must  watch  them, 
and  the  next  day,  and  the  next  day, 
till  they  rise  and  blossom  in  their 
beauty." 

'  Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  went 
away. 

I  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside 
the  daffodils.  I  was  rather  tired 
and  the  soft  wind  fanned  my  hot 
face.  I  felt  very  happy,  and  pres- 
ently a  good  wholesome  hunger  set 
me  wondering  what  Rhoda  would 
have  for  luncheon.  I  have  such  an 
excellent  liver  since  I  took  to  gar- 
dening. No  longer  do  I  mince  my 
food  like  an  overfed  lady.  The 
rich  consider  that  they  inherit  the 
good  things  of  this  earth.  Luxury 
awaits  them,  and  Pride  is  their 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       111 

handmaid,  but  oh,  such  torpid  liv- 
ers as  they  possess,  and  that  means 
melancholy,  loss  of  appetite  and  ill 
health!  Thank  God,  I  can  work 
and  eat,  too!  This  good  out-of- 
door  life!  What  every  tired 
woman  needs  is  an  Earthly  Para- 
dise or  a  New  Eden. 

The  last  I  saw  of  the  minister, 
he  climbed  the  fence  and  disap- 
peared in  the  shadowy  woods  be- 
yond. Rhoda  called  me  to  lunch; 
and  as  I  walked  toward  the  house 
I  fell  to  thinking:  "  Suppose,  when 
Mr.  Warren  had  built  my  summer- 
house  and  when  it  was  all  secluded 
'neath  the  scarlet  runners,  he  should 
come  again.  Some  fine  moonlight 
night,  Priscilla  Brown  would  visit 
me;  and  in  that  rustic  stronghold, 
just  big  enough  for  two,  Donald 
Warren  would  tell  her  that  he  loved 


112       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


her.  If  Priscilla  Brown  said  '  yes  ' 
to  his  proposal,  —  why,  how  handy 
that  minister  would  come  in  to 
marry  them ! " 


WE   INSPECT 
MR.   BROWN'S     VIII 
"FAILURES" 


1 


0  you  mean  to  tell 
me,  Rhoda,  that 
your  niece  — 
Araminta  Spran- 
gleberry  —  has 
no  home?  " 

"  Dat's  jes'  what  I  means,  Honey; 
she's  clean  orphaned.  'Clar'  to 
goodness,  dar  ain't  no  one  lef  her 
but  me." 

"  How  old  is  she,  Rhoda?" 

"  Lemme   see,   Honey;    she  war 

two  yeahs  ole  de  wintah  Jim,  my 

ole  man,  got  his  leg  bruk  in  de  gum 

swamp ;  and  she  war  five  yeahs  ole 

113 


114      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

de  wintah  we  cum  Norf.  Five  and 
two  makes  seben.  Den  Tse  ben 
Norf  seben  yeahs ;  dat  makes  Ara- 
minty  "  —  and  Rhoda  diligently 
counted  on  her  fingers  — 

"Just  fourteen,"  I  said,  to  help 
her  out. 

"  Law,  Honey,  Minty  ain't  dat 
ole,  nohow.  Hoi'  on,  'til  I  counts 
it  ober: 

"  She  war  two  yeahs  ole  de  win- 
tah Jim  got  de  leg  broke  in  de  gum 
swamp;  and  de  wintah  I  moved 
Norf  she  war  five  yeahs  ole.  Five 
an'  two  makes  seben.  Dat's  sho'ly 
right." 

"But,  Rhoda,"  I  expostulated, 
"why  do  you  count  that  way? 
Why  can't  you  say  she  was  five 
years  old  the  winter  you  moved 
North?" 

"  So  she  war,  Honey ;    but  den 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      115 

she  war  two  yeahs  ole  de  wintah 
Jim  —  " 

"  Don't  count  those  two  years,  — 
it  isn't  necessary.  She  was  five 
years  old  the  winter  you  moved 
North,  and  you  have  been  North 
seven  years.  That  makes  Araminta 
just  twelve  years  old.  Isn't  that 
right?  How  can  you  figure  it  any 
other  way?  " 

"I  dunno,  Honey:  I'se  got  so 
puzzled  ober  dem  udder  two  yeahs, 
I  don'  sense  whar  dey's  gwine  to; 
but  it  do  seem,  Minty  can't  be  no 
older  'an  dat." 

So  it  was  all  arranged  that  Ara- 
minta Sprangleberry  should  come 
North  to  be  under  the  protection  of 
her  only  relative,  and  to  act  in  the 
capacity  of  waiting-maid  to  my 
humble  self. 

"  She's  jes'  peart  an'  smart,  mis- 


116      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

sus,"  said  Rhoda:  "an'  if  she  don' 
mind,  youse  can  trollop  her." 

I  did  not  feel  at  all  sure  that  I 
wanted  Araminta,  but  who  would 
care  for  her  if  not  Rhoda?  and  if 
Rhoda  should  leave  me  —  the  very 
thought  made  my  flesh  prick.  No, 
a  thousand  times  no!  I  would  hail 
the  coming  of  this  handmaid;  she 
should  be  welcome  within  my  gates. 

In  the  meantime,  there  were 
pleasanter  things  to  contemplate. 
Stacked  in  a  pile  against  the  ice- 
house were  slim  birch  poles  that 
Pat  had  cut  in  the  south  swamp. 
They  were  to  be  used  for  my  sum- 
mer-house ;  and  in  two  pudgy  pack- 
ets were  the  seeds  of  the  scarlet 
runners. 

Araminta  was  a  problem  of  the 
future  and  as  one  should  live  only 
in  the  present,  I  soon  forgot  her 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       117 

and  watched  anxiously  for  the 
slow-moving  stage-coach  to  come 
over  the  hill. 

I  felt  not  a  little  vexed  at  the 
attitude  Priscilla  Brown  had  sud- 
denly assumed.  She  refused  my 
invitation  to  come  over  and  watch 
us  build  the  summer-house  —  say- 
ing, "  father  would  need  her  at 
home." 

In  a  way  I  understood  her  feel- 
ings. Did  I  not  force  Max  to  woo 
me  most  vigorously,  before  con- 
senting? 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  I  said,  "  for  I 
thought  it  would  interest  you  to 
see  a  summer-house  built.  I  pre- 
sume," I  continued  evasively,  "  Mr. 
Warren  may  wish  to  call  on  you 
in  a  friendly  way.  Will  you  ob- 
ject?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  bright- 


118       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

ening;  "  if  you  will  only  come  too, 
Mrs.  Elliot?" 

"  We  will  see,"  I  returned, 
shortly.  "  It  may  take  all  of  our 
time  to  build  the  summer-house; 
but  if  we  have  any  to  spare,  you 
can  look  for  us,  dear." 

Even  such  a  slow  vehicle  as  a 
stage-coach  will  appear  at  last.  I 
welcomed  Mr.  Warren  with  a 
friendliness  that  must  have  cheered 
him.  "  Max  could  not  stay  at  home 
to-day,"  I  explained,  "  but  he  will 
drive  out  early  this  evening." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Warren,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  you  have  another  guest 
in  the  stage-coach." 

I  peeped  in,  and  there  —  with  her 
head  against  a  travelling-rug  — 
fast  asleep,  I  recognized  the  fea- 
tures of  my  Aunt  Matilda. 

"  She  was  very  tired,  and  dropped 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       119 

off  a  mile  back,"  explained  Mr. 
Warren.  "  I  hesitated  to  wake 
her." 

I  felt  the  tears  well  into  my  eyes. 
I  love  my  aunt,  but  why,  oh,  why, 
had  she  chosen  this  inopportune 
time  to  visit  me  —  just  when  I  was 
arranging  a  delightful  love  affair 
for  the  sweetest  girl  I  knew? 

The  stopping  of  the  coach  soon 
roused  her.  She  opened  her  eyes 
and  gazed  at  me.  "  Is  it  you,  Ju- 
dith, dear  child?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Matilda.  Let  me  as- 
sist you  out.  You  did  not  send  me 
word?" 

"  No,  child;  I  wanted  to  see  for 
myself  just  how  you  are  situated. 
Call  your  servants  and  let  them 
take  my  things." 

Aunt  Matilda  is  rich  and  she  for- 
gets that  all  her  relatives  share  not 


120       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

the  same  blessing;  but  as  Pat  was 
handy,  I  called  to  him. 

My  aunt  bestirred  herself,  only 
to  find  that  the  long  ride  had 
cramped  her  considerably  and 
brought  on  a  touch  of  her  old  en- 
emy—  the  gout.  Mr.  Warren  and 
Pat  were  obliged  to  fairly  carry  her 
up  the  walk  to  the  house. 

I  seated  her  in  the  easiest  chair 
in  our  living-room;  took  off  her 
wraps  and  the  much-bespangled 
bonnet.  That  she  was  worn  out  I 
plainly  saw,  and  my  heart  warmed 
toward  her.  Was  it  not  pure  love 
that  prompted  her  to  take  such  a 
tiresome  journey? 

"  Dear  Aunt  Matilda,"  I  said  — 
and  kissed  her. 

'Why,  Judith,"  she  exclaimed 
querulously,  "  how  brown  you  are ! 
And  I  believe  there  are  freckles 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       121 

coming  on  your  nose.  Are  you  for- 
getting that  a  woman's  beauty  is 
her  greatest  earthly  possession?" 

I  did  not  reply,  but  formally  in- 
troduced her  to  Mr.  Warren;  then 
I  hurried  to  the  kitchen  to  bid 
Rhoda  make  her  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  Rhoda,"  I  said,  "  here  is  my 
aunt  come  to  visit  me,  and  just  as 
I  wanted  to  build  the  summer- 
house!  Hurry  up  luncheon!  Oh, 
how  I  wish  there  was  something 
harmless  that  I  could  give  Aunt 
Matilda  to  make  her  take  a  good 
nap  this  afternoon!" 

"  Bar's  catnip  tea,  Honey," 
laughed  Rhoda.  "  Dat's  drefful 
soothin'  to  de  narves,  —  makes  one 
sleep  like  a  babby." 

"  My  poor  aunt  has  the  gout, 
Rhoda." 

"  My  ole  missus  had  dat  same, 


122       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


Honey;  dat's  a  disease  ob  de  qual- 
ity. I  uster  mak'  her  catnip  tea,  an' 
she'd  drap  off  dat  easy  like  —  " 

"  Perhaps  I  can  persuade  Aunt 
Matilda  to  try  some,  Rhoda.  At 
any  rate  you  can  make  it."  Then  I 
ran  upstairs  to  the  guest-chamber 
and  put  a  little  fire  in  the  fireplace, 
for  the  day  was  cool.  I  had  in- 
tended this  room  for  Mr.  Warren, 
but  now  he  must  take  the  north 
chamber. 

The  spare  time  before  luncheon, 
I  devoted  to  Aunt  Matilda,  as  a  du- 
tiful niece  should.  Mr.  Warren 
very  considerately  said  he  would 
take  a  little  stroll.  By  and  by  a 
door  opened  and  Rhoda  appeared. 
A  steaming  fragrance  was  wafted 
in  with  her  that  I  recognized  as 
catnip. 

She  dropped  a  stiff  little  courtesy 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       123 

to  Aunt  Matilda,  then  turned  to 
me:  "Missus,"  she  said,  "  I'se 
found  dat  catnip." 

"Aunt  Matilda,"  I  said,  "  Rho- 
da's  mistress  in  the  South  used  to 
have  gout.  She  took  catnip  tea  to 
ease  it.  Won't  you  try  some?" 

A  gleam  of  interest  shone  in  my 
aunt's  eyes. 

"Who  was  your  mistress?"  she 
inquired. 

"  Ob  de  quality,  mum,"  replied 
Rhoda.  "  I  wuz  cook  in  one  ob  de 
fust  famblies  in  de  Souf." 

"  Was  her  gout  very  bad?  " 

"  Passably,  mum.  It  uster  cum 
on  powerful  bad  arter  she  ate  ob 
de  plum  puddin'  at  Chris'mus  time; 
but  I  'clar'  to  goodness,  catnip  tea 
is  drefful  good  fur  gout.  It  uster 
help  my  ole  missus." 

"  I  think  I  will  try  some,"  said 


124       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Aunt  Matilda  —  waving  away  a 
proffered  cup  of  tea.  "  Catnip  is 
harmless." 

Rhoda  looked  radiant.  "  I'll  fix 
it  up  wid  cream  an'  sugar,  missus. 
'Twill  taste  powerful  fine." 

In  half  an  hour  she  was  back 
again  with  one  of  my  pet  china 
bowls  full  of  a  creamy  mixture  that 
looked  and  smelled  good. 

Aunt  Matilda  liked  it  and  drank 
the  whole  bowlful  with  a  relish. 

After  luncheon  she  was  in  a  pas- 
sive state  and  said  her  foot  no 
longer  pained  her.  To  my  sugges- 
tion that  she  take  a  good  long  nap, 
she  assented  with  avidity.  Rhoda 
and  I  undressed  her  and  helped  her 
into  the  comfortable  bed  in  the 
south  chamber,  where  she  could 
watch  the  firelight  in  the  stone  fire- 
place. I  found  on  Max's  desk  a 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       125 

novel,  still  uncut;  and  laying  it  be- 
side her  with  my  silver  paper-cut- 
ter, I  wished  her  a  pleasant  sleep. 

'  Yes,  dear,"  she  murmured 
drowsily,  "  and  you  must  take  a 
nap,  yourself." 

Take  a  nap!  I  flew  down  the 
stairs  to  Mr.  Warren.  "  It  is  such 
a  lovely  afternoon,"  I  said  —  look- 
ing up  at  the  fleecy  white  clouds 
dotting  the  blue  arch  of  heaven  — 
"  would  you  not  like  to  take  a  row 
on  the  lake  and  pay  Miss  Brown  a 
visit?" 

"  I  would,"  he  said  eagerly;  "  but 
the  summer-house?  I  must  leave 
to-morrow.  Business  is  more 
pressing  than  I  thought  it  was  go- 
ing to  be." 

"  We  can  show  Pat  how  to  set 
the  poles,"  I  said.  "  Pat  is  to  be 
trusted." 


126       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


Down  we  went  to  the  foot  of  the 
garden,  where,  picking  out  a  suit- 
able spot,  Mr.  Warren  illustrated 
to  Pat  just  where  each  pole  should 
be  set. 

"Hoo!"  said  Pat,  smiling,  "I 
knows  pwhat  ye  want  better  than 
ye  do  yersilf,  sir.  In  the  juke's  gar- 
den —  where  me  uncle  worked  — 
thar  wor  two  o'  thim  idintical  tents. 
I  remembers  thim  well.  One  had 
roses  a-climbin'  over  it,  an'  the 
other  mornin'  glories;  and  each  had 
a  bit  o'  a  bird  house  to  top  'em. 
Jest  you  be  aisy,  sir,  I'll  fix  things 
roight." 

"  My  aunt  is  asleep,"  I  told  Mr. 
Warren  ;  and  I  confessed  that  I  had 
given  her  catnip  tea. 

"And  why?"  he  asked. 

"  Because,  because,"  I  stam- 
mered, "  I  was  afraid  if  she  kept 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       127 

me  in  you  would  go  away  without 
seeing  Priscilla  Brown." 

He  smiled  and  worked  the  oars 
a  little  faster.  "  I  should  hate  to 
have  done  that,"  he  said  gently. 

"I  know  it,"  I  returned,  "and 
Priscilla  Brown  is  so  shy  —  " 

"  And  sweet,"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  sweet." 

"  I  love  her,"  he  said,  looking 
straight  at  me. 

"  I  guessed  it !  "  I  exclaimed  joy- 
fully. 

"Still,  I  fear,"  he  remarked 
gloomily,  "  there  is  little  hope  for 
me.  I  have  written  to  her  all  win- 
ter; but  every  letter  she  writes  in 
reply  is  so  shy  and  cold  that  I  hesi- 
tate even  to  call  her  my  friend." 

"  You  must  not  hesitate,"  I  said 
decidedly.  "  He  who  hesitates  is 
lost." 


128       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  I  am  so  glad,"  he  remarked, 
presently,  "  that  you  are  my  friend, 
Mrs.  Elliot." 

"  You  may  always  count  on  me," 
I  said,  firmly,  "  but  tell  me,  have 
you  seen  any  new  plants  lately  that 
are  suitable  for  a  garden?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  he  said,  warming 
to  the  subject.  "  I  have  in  mind  a 
plant  —  I  do  not  know  its  name, 
but  it  has  fine  yellow  leaves  and 
grows  up  like  a  little  bush.  It 
makes  one  think  the  sun  is  shining, 
no  matter  how  gloomy  the  day." 

"  I  must  have  it,"  I  said  deci- 
dedly. "  Oh,  Mr.  Warren,  do  look 
up  its  name  and  write  me  at  once." 

By  this  time  we  had  crossed  the 
great  shining  lake  and  beached  our 
boat  close  by  a  bed  of  reeds.  The 
pointed  lances  rose  so  straight  and 
vigorous,  so  beautifully  green,  that 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       129 

it  thrilled  me  just  to  gaze  at  them. 
I  love  the  reeds  that  haunt  the 
quiet  coves.  How  they  murmur 
when  the  little  winds  steal  through 
them !  Are  they  telling  one  another 
that  it  is  good  to  stand  with  feet  in 
the  cool  water  under  the  great  blue 
tent  of  heaven?  The  gauzy- winged 
dragon-fly  hears  them  whisper  and 
the  red-winged  blackbird  answers 
with  his  merry  whistle.  The  marsh 
wren  gossips  'mid  their  greenness. 
Oh,  there  is  always  life  and  joy, 
brooding  and  love,  'mid  these  tall 
lances. 

We  fastened  our  boat  and  walked 
across  the  fields  to  the  home  of 
Priscilla  Brown. 

Belinda  opened  the  door  to  a 
roomy  old  hall.  She  said,  "  Miss 
Priscilla  will  soon  be  down,"  and 
bade  us  be  seated  in  the  parlour. 


130       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


I  did  not  like  the  parlour.  It  had 
a  carpet  on  the  floor  that  looked 
like  a  misconstructed  flower  gar- 
den; and  the  furniture  was  black 
walnut  covered  with  hideous  yellow 
plush.  I  have  heard  since  that  Mr. 
Brown  bought  the  house  "  ready 
furnished."  Curious  little  stands 
were  all  about  the  room  holding 
models  under  glass  cases.  Evi- 
dently, Mr.  Brown  was  proud  of  his 
inventions.  In  a  space  between  a 
door  and  the  mantel,  hung  a  large 
oil  portrait  of  a  beautiful  woman. 
I  could  not  keep  my  eyes  from  this 
picture.  The  tall,  lithe  figure  in  a 
pale  blue  satin  gown  with  foam-like 
lace  falling  from  the  faultless  shoul- 
ders; the  large  black  hat  with  its 
mighty  drooping  plumes.  I  knew 
at  once  that  this  was  Priscilla 
Brown's  mother,  the  actress;  but, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       131 

oh,  how  beautiful,  how  touching 
was  the  sweet  girlish  face  that 
looked  down  at  us!  We  no  longer 
wondered  where  her  daughter 
gained  her  beauty  and  grace  of 
manner. 

We  were  lost  in  admiration  when 
Priscilla  Brown  came  through  the 
doorway:  but  we  straightway  for- 
got the  portrait  in  gazing  at  this 
living  embodiment  of  beauty. 

There  are  women  who  remind 
one  of  flowers.  Priscilla  Brown 
was  such  on  this  day;  she  sug- 
gested a  rose  in  its  full  beauty. 
Her  gown  was  of  a  pale  blue  bro- 
cade with  a  soft  blush  rose  printed 
upon  it;  while  about  her  young 
shoulders  gleamed  the  same  pat- 
tern of  old  lace  that  adorned  her 
mother's  portrait.  Her  golden  hair 
fell  in  soft  waves  about  the  fresh, 


132       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

pure  face  and  was  fastened  in  a  coil 
high  on  her  head.  In  my  very  soul 
I  blessed  the  gods  that  made  her 
poor;  that  forced  her,  perhaps 
against  her  will,  to  wear  those 
quaint,  old-fashioned  gowns,  the  be- 
longings of  a  beautiful  mother. 

I  gazed  at  her  as  much  as  seemed 
polite,  and  Mr.  Warren,  I  think, 
rather  overstepped  the  bounds. 
Her  cheeks  paled  and  reddened  as 
she  greeted  us ;  but  her  natural  dig- 
nity did  not  once  desert  her. 

"  You  must  excuse  father,"  she 
said  apologetically;  "he  has  an 
idea  and  dares  not  forsake  it.  He 
prays  that  you  will  accept  our  hos- 
pitality." 

It  was  rather  strained,  this  sit- 
ting on  the  hard  chairs,  and  I  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say.  Mr.  War- 
ren, also,  appeared  tongue-tied. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       133 


At  length  I  pointed  to  the  mod- 
els: "Your  father's  work?"  I  in- 
quired. 

'  Yes,"  she  returned  with  anima- 
tion. "  Will  you  not  examine 
them?  Father  calls  them  his  fail- 
ures; but  I  think  they  are  wonder- 
ful." 

We  arose  and  gazed  at  the  near- 
est model,  a  natural-looking  ear, 
resting  upon  a  red-plush  cushion. 

"  This  is  an  ear-trumpet,"  said 
Priscilla.  "  There  is  a  wonderful 
little  piece  of  mechanism  behind 
the  model,  which  enables  the  deaf 
to  hear  perfectly.  The  instrument 
is  fastened  over  the  real  ear  by 
those  slender  gold  wires.  Father 
had  this  model  coloured  in  Paris 
so  as  to  render  it  as  natural  as  pos- 
sible. He  learned  too  late  that  it 
could  not  be  patented;  there  was 


itC 


134       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


something  quite  like  it  on  the  mar- 
ket." 

"  And  this,"  she  continued,  point- 
ing to  a  small  machine,  "  is  a 
winder.  You  stretch  your  skein 
here,  then  start  up  the  machine 
with  the  little  brass  key;  and  pres- 
ently your  yarn  is  transferred  into 
a  neat  ball  on  yonder  spindle. 
Father  was  very  sorry  to  learn  that 
a  Frenchman  had  thought  of  the 
same  idea  a  little  earlier." 

We  passed  on.  "  That  is  a  nee- 
dle-setter," she  said.  "  I  can't  just 
remember  what  happened  to  it;  and 
here  is  a  little  electrical  affair  for 
brushing  scalps  —  to  make  the  hair 
grow." 

"And  did  it  succeed?"  I  asked, 
thinking  of  all  the  bald-headed  men 
I  knew. 

She  smiled.    "  Father  thought  it 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       135 

would  grow  hair  beautifully;  but 
the  man  who  tried  it  became  prema- 
turely bald."  We  sighed,  and 
moved  on. 

"  Here  is  an  artificial  eye,"  she 
resumed,  pointing  to  an  optical  illu- 
sion upon  a  blue  cushion.  "  Father 
was  sure  he  could  improve  upon 
those  already  made.  This  has  a 
self-acting,  automatic  spring,  which 
moves  the  eyeball;  but  somehow 
father  did  not  consider  it  a  success. 
He  made  one  for  a  horse  that  had 
lost  an  eye;  but  as  the  artificial 
eyeball  could  never  be  persuaded  to 
move  in  the  same  direction  with  the 
real  one,  the  effect  was  unpleasant." 

Suddenly,  we  were  interrupted 
by  a  low  series  of  chuckles  from  an 
adjoining  room  —  then  a  loud  laugh 
and  a  frantic  clapping  of  hands. 
Surely,  some  person  was  exercis- 


136       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

ing  for  a  lunatic  asylum.  I  felt 
alarmed;  but  Priscilla's  face  bright- 
ened. 

"  It's  father,"  she  said;  "  oh,  just 
listen!  I  do  believe  he  has  solved 
his  idea!  "  She  ran  to  the  door  and 
struck  the  panels.  "  Father,  fa- 
ther," she  cried  joyously,  "  have 
you  got  it  ?  " 

"  Go  away,  daughter,"  called  an 
impatient  voice.  "  Don't  interrupt 
me;  I  all  but  had  it." 

After  we  had  looked  at  the  rest 
of  Mr.  Brown's  "  failures  "  we  went 
out  to  the  old  orchid  house  and  ex- 
amined a  queer-looking  machine 
propped  upon  the  benches.  Here, 
I  watched  my  opportunity  to  slip 
away.  I  told  Priscilla  that  Rhoda 
wanted  Belinda's  recipe  for  cook- 
ies. 

It  took  me  a  long  time  to  get  out 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       137 


of  Belinda  just  how  to  fashion 
those  cookies.  She  was  so  fond  of 
extolling  the  hens  that  I  was 
obliged  to  get  her  ideas  piecemeal, 
as  it  were.  Then  she  wanted  me  to 
have  a  root  of  Balm  of  Gilead;  and 
nothing  would  do  but  she  must 
get  a  basket  and  spade  and  dig  it 
up. 

When  at  last,  I  re-entered  the 
orchid  house  I  was  quite  shame- 
faced; and  the  reproachful  look  in 
Priscilla's  eyes  was  not  assuring. 

I  showed  her  the  Balm  of  Gilead 
and  told  her  I  had  been  examining 
the  hens  and  was  much  pleased  to 
find  them  all  in  good  condition; 
then,  as  she  still  remained  pale  and 
distraught,  I  suddenly  remembered 
Aunt  Matilda.  Surely,  her  nap 
would  be  ended. 

"  Oh,    my    poor    aunt,"     I    ex- 


138       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

claimed;  "how  I  have  neglected 
her!  We  must  go  home  this  very 
minute." 

Priscilla  walked  with  us  as  far 
as  the  lake,  and  I  gathered  a  few 
reeds  while  Mr.  Warren  bade  her 
good-bye. 

As  we  rowed  homeward  I  could 
see  that  Mr.  Warren  was  sad  — 
very  sad.  At  last  I  said,  "  Well?  " 

if  It  is  no  use,"  he  remarked,  de- 
spondently ;  "  I  can  never,  never 
win  her.  Her  one  idea  is  her  father. 
She  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave 
him." 

"  Oh,  well,"  I  said  cheerfully,  "  he 
can't  last  forever." 

Mr.  Warren  found  that  Pat  had 
followed  his  idea  perfectly,  in  re- 
gard to  the  summer-house;  and  I 
made  that  congenial,  flower-loving 
man  promise,  that  he  would  return 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      139 


when  the  scarlet  runners  were  all 
abloom  with  beauty,  for  I  bade  him 
remember  that  "  Faint  heart  ne'er 
won  fair  ladye." 


AN   ARGUMENT 

BETWEEN 

HUSBAND  AND 

WIFE 


SHALL  not  dwell 
upon  the  days 
my  aunt  spent 
with  me.  That 
they  were  tire- 
some, indoor  days  you  may  well 
imagine. 

If  the  Lord  had  not  mercifully 
sent  rain,  I  should  have  been  forced 
to  seek  my  garden,  and  to  have 
dragged  Aunt  Matilda  with  me. 
As  it  was,  I  rose  early  every  morn- 
ing, and  in  a  soft  veil  of  mist  sowed 
seeds  that  I  prayed  might  not  be 
drowned  out. 

140 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       141 

The  second  day  my  aunt  was 
with  me,  she  asked  to  inspect  my 
wardrobe;  and  I,  who  hardly  knew 
I  had  a  wardrobe,  was  forced  to 
drag  out  all  my  belongings  and  to 
pile  them  upon  the  bed  before  her 
highly  disapproving  eyes.  Oh,  why 
is  my  aunt  so  critical!  Would  she 
rather  I  were  dressed  in  silks,  pale 
and  listless,  or  in  neat  ginghams, 
ruddy  and  strong?  Could  a  sensi- 
ble person  prefer  the  former? 

She  tells  me  she  fears  that  when 
I  grow  a  little  older  Max  will  cease 
to  love  me;  for  then  the  slight 
beauty  I  can  now  boast  of  will  be 
gone.  I  suppose  she  means  that  I 
shall  be  like  a  flower  —  run  to  gar- 
den seed. 

I  tell  her  that  people  who  live 
out-of-doors  do  not  grow  old  as 
quickly  as  those  who  live  indoors. 


142 


Midsummer  Wooing 


As  an  illustration,  I  refer  to  the 
Indians. 

"  I  should  hate  to  look  like  an 
Indian,"  snaps  my  Aunt  Matilda. 

I  feel  like  saying  something;  but 
suddenly  I  remember  Mr.  Pegleg's 
advice  and  remain  meek.  I  am  glad 
of  it  later  on;  for  repenting  is  un- 
pleasant business. 

At  last,  the  true  meaning  of  my 
aunt's  visit  was  revealed  to  me. 
She  declared  that  she  should  per- 
sonally take  charge  of  my  ward- 
robe and  generously  replenish  it; 
but,  in  return,  I  must  consent  to 
spend  a  couple  of  months  with  her 
at  the  seaside.  The  change  would 
do  me  good  and  she  needed  the  so- 
ciety of  her  "  only  brother's  only 
child." 

When  she  spoke  so  kindly  of  my 
wardrobe,  a  burden  slipped  from 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       143 

my  shoulders.  I  began  at  once  to 
picture  delightful  visits  to  florists, 
where  I  might  spend  my  allowance 
without  the  hampering  thoughts  of 
bonnets  and  needed  gowns;  but 
now  a  cold  feeling  crept  around  my 
heart  and  spread  over  my  whole 
body. 

"  Max  is  not  well,"  I  stammered. 

"  He  says,"  remarked  Aunt  Ma- 
tilda, "  that  he  has  not  felt  so  well 
in  years.  He  has  given  his  consent 
to  your  going." 

"  Max  said  I  could  go?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  child." 

I  glanced  hastily  at  the  clock.  It 
was  after  five;  Max  had  already 
left  town  to  drive  home.  If  I  hur- 
ried, I  might  meet  him  beyond  the 
great  hill,  and  there  expostulate 
with  him. 

It  was  still  raining,  but  I  put  on 


144       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


my  waterproof,  and  telling  Aunt 
Matilda  I  must  step  out  for  a  few 
minutes,  I  fairly  ran  down  the  path 
to  the  road. 

My  heart  was  swelling  with  bit- 
terness. So  Max  had  given  his  con- 
sent that  I  should  leave  my  Earthly 
Paradise  and  journey  forth  with 
Aunt  Matilda.  It  could  never, 
never  be! 

When  I  climbed  the  hill,  I  dis- 
covered Max  driving  along  at  a 
lively  pace. 

I  stepped  into  the  road. 

"Why,  Judith!"  he  exclaimed, 
checking  his  horse. 

Silently,  I  climbed  in  beside  him. 

'What's  happened,  Honey?"  he 
asked  tenderly. 

"  Oh,"  I  said  reproachfully,  "  you 
have  given  your  consent  for  me  to 
go  away  with  Aunt  Matilda! " 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       145 

"  What  else  could  I  do?  "  he  said 
seriously;  "she  has  claims  upon 
you." 

"  Just  when  my  roses  will  be  out 
and  my  lilies  budding,"  I  contin- 
ued; "just  when  I  have  invited 
Mr.  Pegleg  to  spend  a  month  with 
me.  HI  die  first!" 

"  But,  Judith,"  he  urged,  "  Aunt 
Matilda  says  you  are  one-sided. 
She  thinks  you  are  carrying  this 
mania  for  gardening  too  far." 

Max  and  I  have  been  married 
some  years,  but  never,  never  before 
have  I  felt  so  put  out  at  him. 

"She  thinks,"  I  said,  bitterly, 
"  because  God  made  me  to  adore 
His  works,  before  the  works  of 
man,  that  I  am  not  a  true  woman. 
I  wish  she  would  endow  an  orphan 
asylum  with  her  money;  I  don't 
want  it." 


146       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Just  think  what  it  will  do,  little 
Judith  Greenslip,"  he  said  merrily. 
'  You  can  build  greenhouses  galore 
and  harvest  roses  by  the  bushel. 
You  certainly  do  need  that  money, 
my  gardener." 

This  attractive  prospect  ban- 
ished my  ill  nature.  "  You  are 
right,"  I  said  pleasantly;  "  and  that 
reminds  me,  Max,  —  against  our 
arbor-vitae  hedge,  I  have  a  fancy 
to  plant  gladioluses.  I  shall  need 
a  bushel  of  bulbs;  but,  oh,  what  a 
sight  they  will  make  —  what  a 
glory  of  colour!  I  do  hope  Aunt 
Matilda  will  look  after  my  ward- 
robe; for  I  want  to  order  those 
bulbs  to-morrow.  It  is  a  little  late, 
but  not  too  late." 

'*  Then  you  intend  to  go  with 
her?" 

"Go  with  her?    Not  I.    Max,  you 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       147 

must  withdraw  your  consent.  Can't 
you  manage  to  fall  sick?  " 

"Maybe.  What  shall  I  have  — 
the  measles  or  the  mumps?  " 

I  did  not  answer  him,  for  sud- 
denly I  caught  sight  of  fluttering 
wings.  A  brown  thrasher  had 
flown  over  our  heads  and  alighted 
on  a  great  elm-tree  in  the  field  be- 
yond. I  knew  he  was  going  to  sing 
in  spite  of  the  misty  rain. 

"  Oh,  Max,"  I  whispered  eagerly, 
"  it's  a  brown  thrasher!  Let's  get 
out  and  listen  to  him." 

"Pshaw,"  said  Max;  but  I 
caught  the  hand  that  held  the  reins 
and  stopped  the  horse.  "  I  shall 
get  out,"  I  said  decidedly:  "for 
when  one  begins  to  study  the  birds 
she  must  press  every  opportunity. 
You  can  drive  to  the  house  and  fix 
things  up  with  Aunt  Matilda." 


148      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


Max  looked  a  little  vexed,  but 
not  much.  He  is  growing  used  to 
my  "  idiosyncrasies,"  as  he  calls 
them:  and  I  —  my  mind  intent  on 
melody  —  climbed  the  fence  and 
stole  cautiously  through  the  field. 

I  was  none  too  soon.  The  brown 
thrasher  was  already  tuning  his 
vocal  organ.  Just  then  the  sun, 
struggling  through  ragged  clouds, 
shone  warmly  down  upon  him,  and 
he  began  to  praise. 

His  notes  —  so  liquid,  so  joyous, 
fell  upon  my  ears  like  paeans  to 
peace.  Somewhere  in  nature  there 
was  a  link  between  us:  my  spirit 
responded  to  his. 

Nearer  and  nearer  I  crept,  but  he 
seemed  not  to  heed  me.  He  is  not 
so  shy  as  his  brother,  the  wood- 
thrush.  At  last  I  could  see  his 
speckled  breast,  his  swelling  throat, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       149 

and  note  the  look  of  ecstasy  in  his 
raised  head. 

I  knew  he  was  telling  God  that 
he  appreciated  all  the  greenness  of 
this  lovely  earth;  its  wealth  of 
flowers  and  its  shining  waters. 
"  Oh,  God,"  he  chanted,  "  Thou  art 
good  to  me  —  a  bird;  Thou  hast 
given  me  a  happy,  trustful  heart.  I 
love  Thee,  I  love  Thee ! " 

Then  my  spirit  began  to  praise. 
"  Oh,  God,"  I  said,  "  I,  too,  thank 
Thee.  I  love  Thy  work.  The  sky  is 
Thy  glory  and  the  green  trees  are 
Thy  benediction.  The  shining  wa- 
ter is  Thy  mirror  of  beauty,  and  the 
flowers  are  the  kindly  thoughts  of 
Thy  heart.  I,  too,  have  the  merry 
and  trustful  spirit.  Let  me  abide 
in  Thy  goodness,  let  me  dwell  in 
tents  of  peace." 

The     song    ended,     the    brown 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


thrasher  flew  away,  and  I  walked 
cheerfully  home,  knowing  well  in 
my  heart  that  some  good  angel 
would  intervene  to  keep  me  from 
going  away  with  Aunt  Matilda. 


THE  ARRIVAL 

OF  MISS 
SPRANGLEBERRY 


X 


R  A  M  I  N  T  A 
SPRANGLE- 
BERRY has  ar- 
rived; and  with 
her  has  come 

trouble  of  soul  and  vexation  of 
spirit.  I  feel  that  she  is  a  very  imp 
of  mischief. 

Oh,  what  shall  I  do  with  her?  — 
this  queer  little  bundle  of  humanity 
in  a  green  plaid  skirt  and  a  blue 
chambray  waist.  Her  hair  is 
braided  into  pigtails  and  her  saucy 
eyes  are  bright  as  stars.  When  she 
laughs,  her  teeth  gleam  white,  like 


152      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


curdled  milk.  If  you  could  have 
seen  the  little  bob  of  a  courtesy  she 
made  to  me!  Her  Aunt  Rhoda  has 
faith  in  her;  but  I,  who  have  faith 
in  nearly  every  human  being,  doubt 
Araminta. 

I  was  near  the  kitchen  door  yes- 
terday, sowing  some  yellow  poppy 
seeds,  when  I  heard  Rhoda  laying 
down  the  law  to  the  new  arrival: 

"  Look  hyar,  yo'  brack  chick  o' 
Satan !  Whaffur  yo'  drap  dat  tum- 
bler an'  break  it?  Does  yo'  t'ink 
Miss  Judith  got  money  to  spare  fur 
sich  foolishness?  'Deed,  she  ain't; 
she  need  all  her  money  fur  de  plants 
an'  de  gayrden  seeds;  dey  do  tak 
powerful  lot.  I'se  ain't  gwine  to 
hab  yo'  break  things  —  hyar  me? 
An'  I  jes'  wants  to  'spress  on  yo' 
dat  you'se  gwine  to  mind  Miss  Ju- 
dith. If  Miss  Judith  tells  yo'  fur 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       153 


to  stan'  on  yo'  haid  in  de  cornah, 
you'se  gwine  to  do  it,  —  hyar  me? 
Eb'ry  time  she  speaks  you'se  got  to 
mind.  I  ain't  gwine  to  hab  no 
good-fur-nothin'  niggah  'pertinent 
to  my  missus." 

"  'Clar'  to  goodness,  Aunt  Rhody, 
I  ain't  deef,"  replied  Araminta;  "  I 
hyars  yo';  but  Miss  Judith  ain't 
gwine  to  tell  me  fur  to  stan'  on  my 
haid.  Miss  Judith  ain't  got  no  gov'- 
ment.  I'se  ain't  'fraid  o'  her!  " 

"  You'se  ain't!  "  said  Rhoda  in  a 
large  voice.  "  Yo'  bettah  be  !  If 
she  ain't  got  no  gov'ment,  I  hab. 
Jes'  lemme  hyar  yo'  sassy  to  her,  — 
I'll  trollop  yo'!" 

"  Laws,  Aunt  Rhody,  don'  go  for 
to  'spress  yo'self  so.  I'se  a  good 
little  niggah,  I  be." 

"  Dat's  de  way  I  likes  to  hyar  yo' 
talk,  Minty,"  said  Rhoda,  a  tender 


154      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


note  in  her  voice.     "  Say,  Honey, 
hab  yo'  got  religion?" 

"  Yaas,  I'se  got  it,"  said  Miss 
Sprangleberry :  "I'se  bin  on  de 
mo'nahs'  bench;"  and  she  grabbed 
up  a  big  platter  and  whirled  a  cloth 
deftly  about  it.  Presently,  she 
lifted  up  a  fresh  young  voice : 

"  My  wings  am  a-sproutin" 

Like  de  angels  ob  de  Lawd. 
Twink  a  twink,  twink,  twink,  twink! 

She  set  down  the  platter,  and  lift- 
ing her  short  skirt,  fell  to  dancing 
in  such  a  gleeful  manner  that  old 
Rhoda  had  to  laugh  and  so  did  I. 

Anyway,  I  thought,  Araminta 
Sprangleberry  is  good  for  some- 
thing. She  is  good  for  the  blues. 

Pretty  soon  I  finished  sowing 
the  yellow  poppies  and  went  into 
the  house  for  the  seeds  of  scarlet 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       155 


ones.  Pat  was  digging  me  a  large 
bed  for  these  seeds  at  the  left  of  my 
new  summer-house,  just  where  one 
could  look  through  the  opening  and 
see  the  array  •  of  scarlet  banners 
flaunting  in  every  idle  breeze.  Oh, 
how  I  love  a  bed  of  gorgeous  pop- 
pies! A  sweet  woman  has  said 
something  like  this  about  them: 

"  A  poppy  seed  —  it  lies  in  the 
hand,  a  grain  of  dust;  motionless, 
unlovely,  dead.  Yet  think  what  it 
holds !  The  cool  gray-green  of  up- 
ward-springing stalks  and  leaves; 
the  compact  calyx,  studded  with  its 
hundreds  of  protecting  hairs;  and 
within,  crumpled  like  a  baby's  hand, 
the  exquisite  shining  silk  of  gor- 
geous petals!  sunset  rose,  faint 
misty  white,  bold  magnificent  scar- 
let —  all  this  in  an  atom  of  dust." 

I  poured  the  tiny,  tiny  seeds  into 


156       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


a  shallow  dish  beside  me  —  "  God's 
miracles  of  glory,"  I  thought  — 
then  sprinkled  them  on  the  moist 
black  earth  and  blessed  every  seed, 
bidding  it  grow  and  bloom  for  me. 
I  have  a  fashion  of  blessing  things 
I  love;  if  it  does  them  no  good,  it 
surely  can  never  harm  them. 

I  was  feeling  in  a  particularly 
amiable  and  lively  mood  to-day. 
My  aunt  had  gone  and  I  was  left 
behind.  Max,  the  best  of  husbands, 
suddenly  discovered  that  he  could 
not  spare  me;  and  although  Aunt 
Matilda  argued  with  him  for  one 
straight  hour,  he  held  firm;  for  I 
was  behind  him,  and  every  time  I 
saw  him  weakening,  I  gave  him  a 
vigorous  poke  with  a  yard-stick 
which  I  had  concealed  in  the  folds 
of  my  gown. 

The  last  day  Aunt  Matilda  was 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      157 

with  me,  she  made  me  quite  adore 
her;  for  she  told  me  stories  of  my 
father's  early  life,  and  in  a  fit  of 
loneliness  kissed  me  again  and 
again  —  calling  me  her  "  dear  only 
brother's  only  child !  "  She  asked 
me  in  tender  tones  what  I  most 
desired  on  earth?  I,  alas!  so  truth- 
ful, replied: 

"  An  urn  for  my  front  yard." 
I  should  have  known  better;  still 
I  hope  she  will  not  forget  to  send  it. 
That  last  day  I  literally  dragged 
her  through  the  garden  —  it  was 
far  too  pleasant  to  stay  in  the 
house.  Oh,  how  I  did  enjoy  telling 
her  about  my  flower  beds ;  how  this 
one  would  soon  be  in  bloom  and 
that  one  a  little  later.  I  showed 
her  the  spring  and  urged  her  to  go 
as  far  as  the  grove  with  me;  but 
just  then  her  gouty  foot  took  a 


158      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

twinge  and  I  had  to  call  Pat  to 
help  me  support  her  back  to  the 
house. 

Some  people  think  the  rich  enjoy 
themselves;  but  I  feel  sure  they 
cannot.  The  law  of  compensation 
is  so  just,  that  indigestion  or  the 
gout  nearly  always  sets  in  to  even 
things  up. 

I  felt  sad  when  my  Aunt  Matilda 
kissed  me  good-bye;  but  not  for 
long.  I  am  of  a  peculiarly  mercu- 
rial temperament.  I  suddenly  re- 
membered a  basket  of  carnations 
that  had  come  from  the  florist's  and 
went  to  plant  them.  It  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  one's  mind  occupied 
when  sad. 

I  was  thinking  of  my  aunt  now, 
as  I  carefully  smoothed  the  red 
poppy  bed.  I  felt  so  happy  to  know 
that  she  was  there  and  I  was  here. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       159 

Presently  Pat  appeared  down  the 
path. 

I  called  to  him. 

"  Comin',  mum,"  he  replied. 
"  I'm  after  chasm'  thot  danged 
rooster  an'  hin  out  o'  the  mari- 
goold  bed." 

"  Has  the  hen  laid  an  egg  yet, 
Pat  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Shure,  an'  she  hasn't." 

"  She's  got  to  begin  pretty  soon 
or  she  won't  be  profitable,"  I  re- 
marked. "  I  am  going  to  sell  the 
eggs  that  she  lays  to  pay  for  the 
flower  seeds  that  both  those  fowls 
scratch  up." 

Pat  sighed.  I  know  he  does  not 
approve  of  such  a  venture,  but  he 
is  far  too  kind-hearted  to  oppose 
me. 

He  stood  leaning  on  his  spade, 
rather  expectant,  I  thought.  At 


160      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

last  he  spoke:  "  Does  ye  see  nothin' 
new  about  here,  missus?  " 
"Where,  Pat?"  I  asked. 
"Shure,    atop    o'    the    summer- 
house." 

I  looked  up  and  saw,  set  firmly 
upon  the  poles,  a  clever  little  resi- 
dence with  open  doors. 

"  Oh,  Pat,"  I  cried,  "  it's  for  the 
birds!  Did  you  make  it?  " 

"  I  did  then.  It's  loike  the  wee 
housins  in  the  juke's  yard  whin  me 
uncle  had  the  place.  I  remimbers 
thim  well." 

I  looked  so  pleased  that  Pat 
smiled. 

"  I  thought  ye'd  loike  it,"  he  said; 
"but,  be  jabers,  I'm  whastin'  me 
toime;  an'  the  wheeds  a-growin' 
thotfast  —  O  Lord!" 

He  hastened  away,  and  I  sat 
down  to  dream  of  two  merry  new 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       161 


tenants.  It  was  rather  late  for  the 
bluebirds;  so  perhaps  —  nay,  very 
probably  —  the  house  would  be 
rented  to  a  pair  of  wrens.  Then 
what  a  chattering  there  would  be, 
and  what  singing  at  all  hours  of  the 
day;  sometimes,  too,  there  would 
be  scolding  and  naughty  slapping 
of  wings  ;  but  then  I  need  not  hap- 
pen around  when  Jenny  Wren  and 
her  mate  were  out  of  temper. 

How  complete  my  garden  was 
growing.  Surely,  the  Lord  had 
prospered  me.  What  more  did  I 
need?  This  day  I  had  discovered 
thousands  of  tiny  green  buds  start- 
ing on  my  rose-bushes.  Soon,  ah, 
soon  June  would  be  here;  and  oh, 
the  glory  of  it  !  I  hope  I  shall  never 
die  in  June,  and  I  don't  think  I 
shall;  for  when  that  month  comes 
round  I  am  so  exhilarated,  so  rilled 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


with  a  zest  for  living,  that  I  forget 
all  about  heaven.  I  am  perfectly 
satisfied  with  this  dear  old  earth  in 
June,  —  rosetime. 


A   VISIT  FROM 

MY  IRISH       XI 
NEIGHBOUR 


AT  is  the  soul  of 
good  nature,  but 
some  beings 
would  try  the  an- 
gels. Araminta 
is  such  an  one. 

My  gardener  came  to  me  to-day, 
with  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"  Be  jabers,  mum,"  said  he,  "  that 
little  black  divil  is  a  caution!  I've 
ketched  her  a-pullin'  up  me  young 
redishes  to  see  wor  they  big  enuf 
to  ate;  thin,  a-jabbin'  o'  'em  back 
in  the  sile.  'Tis  riled  I  am  at  her, 
an*  do  ye  blame  me?  " 

163 


164       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


I  looked  between  the  branches  of 
my  tallest  Jacqueminot  rose,  for  I 
was  cutting  a  bloom. 

"  And  how  else  could  she  find 
out?  "I  asked.  "  Araminta  cannot 
see  into  the  ground:  still,  it  was 
very  naughty  in  her,  Pat.  I  pre- 
sume I  shall  scold  her." 

"  Begorra,  she  nades  it !  "  and  Pat 
walked  away  in  high  disgust. 

I  called  for  Araminta.  She  came 
and  stood  before  me,  digging  one 
black  toe  into  the  ground.  (She 
will  run  barefoot.) 

"  Araminta,"  I  said  as  sternly  as 
possible,  "  why  did  you  pull  up  the 
radishes?  " 

"Tore  God,  Miss  Judith,"  she 
cried  indignantly,  "  Tse  ain't  bin 
near  dat  old  redish  bed." 

'  Yes,  you  have,  Araminta ;   Pat 
saw  you." 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      165 

"Sho!  dat  ole  man  needs  specs. 
Dat  was  my  Aunt  Rhody." 

"  Araminta,"  I  said,  keeping  my 
face  turned  from  her,  "  do  you 
know  where  liars  go  to?" 

"  Yes'm ;  dey's  clean  burned  up, 
Parson  Chittenden  say." 

"Aren't  you  afraid?" 

"  No,  Miss  Judith,  'cause  I'se  got 
religion;  I'se  one  ob  de  elect;  I 
ain't  skeered  at  nothin'." 

"  Araminta,"  I  said  sternly,  "  I 
am  going  to  tell  your  Aunt  Rhoda." 

The  threat  was  timely.  She 
threw  her  short  cotton  apron  over 
her  head  and  began  to  howl :  "  Oh, 
don't,  Miss  Judith,  please  don't! 
I'll  be  good,  I'll  'fess!  I  was  jes' 
gwine  to  look  at  one  redish,  when 
it  pulled  itself  up  by  de  roots,  so 
dar!  If  you  tell  Aunt  Rhody, 
mebbe  she'll  sen'  me  back  Souf ;  an* 


166       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


since  I'se  libed  along  o'  yo'  an'  dese 
posies,  I'd  rather  die  than  go  back 
to  dem  niggah  quarters." 

"  Do  you  love  flowers,  Ara- 
minta?"  I  asked,  softening. 

"  I  jes'  dotes  on  'em,  Miss  Judith. 
I  wish  I  had  some  o'  dem  red  roses 
to  make  a  wreaf,"  and  the  apron 
was  cautiously  lowered. 

I  looked  into  her  bright,  black 
eyes  and  presently  a  fellow-feeling 
was  established  between  us  —  a 
sort  of  invisible  bridge  of  sympathy 
—  for  I  recollected  my  own  childish 
curiosity.  How  once  upon  a  time 
(even  then  a  lover  of  a  garden),  I 
had  wandered  through  my  father's 
watermelon-patch  and  with  a  sharp 
knife  cut  little  green  squares  in  the 
fruit  just  to  see  if  the  melons  were 
ripe.  They  were  not  ripe,  and  a 
wicked  spirit  prompted  me  to  turn 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      167 

each  green  globe  downward,  ex- 
actly where  the  kind  earth  would 
hide  its  cruel  wound.  When  my 
father  discovered  this  he  said,  in  a 
very  dignified  manner: 

"  Judith,  you  are  young,  but  you 
are  very  deceitful.  Your  care  in 
turning  my  melons  to  conceal  your 
mischief  has  decided  me.  I  should 
do  very  wrong  if  I  failed  to  chastise 
you." 

My  distaste  for  that  chastisement 
is  still  with  me.  I  would  be  kinder 
to  Araminta.  I  gave  her  the  roses, 
and  peace  was  between  us.  She  ran 
off  for  twine  to  tie  up  the  wreath, 
and  I  walked  down  the  path  toward 
the  gate,  for  I  perceived  that  some 
one  was  standing  before  it. 

"  Arrah,  now,  Mrs.  Elliot,"  called 
a  gay  Irish  voice,  "  but  ye  hev  a 
foine  garden!  The  flowers  do  look 


168      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


grand.  W'u'd  ye  moind  if  I  walk  a 
sphell  among  thim?  " 

"  Come  in,"  I  said,  hurrying  to 
open  the  gate.  "  It  will  give  me 
great  satisfaction  to  show  you  my 
garden,  Mrs.  Sullivan.  I  am  glad 
you  want  to  see  it." 

"Thank  ye  kindly,  Mrs.  Elliot. 
'Tis  me  mither,  who  is  over  eighty, 

^  ^^fil  iW 

Sr  but  thot  cunning!  ses  she,  the  fust 
day  ye  come  to  me  house :  '  That's 
a  foine  shlip  o'  a  woman,  and  I  bet 
she  loikes  flowers/ ' 

We  walked  up  the  path  together, 
this  bright  morning  in  June,  and  I 
took  Mrs.  Sullivan  straight  to  my 
rose  garden.  When  the  voluble 
Irishwoman's  eyes  rested  upon  that 
first  outbreaking  of  bloom,  shading 
from  deepest  red  to  purest  white, 
she  threw  up  her  hands,  exclaim- 
ing: "  Thim's  roses!  O  me  God!  " 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       169 

"  Aren't  they  glorious  ?  "  I  cried, 
scarcely  less  elated,  for  I  never  ap- 
proach my  rose  bed  in  June  without 
a  feeling  that  I  have  great  cause  for 
thanksgiving,  "  and  say,  Mrs.  Sul- 
livan, would  you  not  like  to  have 
me  root  you  some  to  make  a  hedge 
between  your  yard  and  your  corn- 
field?" 

"  I'd  be  thot  plazed,  Mrs.  Elliot, 
I  don't  know  how  to  expriss  me- 
silf." 

"  Now,"  I  said  briskly,  "  I  shall 
cut  some  roses  for  your  mother. 
Araminta,"  I  called,  "  fetch  me  my 
shears  and  a  basket." 

For  once  that  imp  of  mischief 
heard  me,  scurried  away,  and  re- 
turned presently  with  the  desired 
implements.  As  soon  as  her  back 
was  turned,  Mrs.  Sullivan  said  cau- 
tiously: 


170      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  In  God's  name,  where  did  ye 
git  that  pace  of  humanity,  Mrs. 
Elliot?" 

"  She  came  to  me,"  I  replied 
mournfully. 

"  I  feel  to  pity  ye,"  said  my  Irish 
friend. 

I  filled  one-half  of  the  basket 
with  roses,  then  walked  down  the 
path  to  where  candytuft  and  pinks 
were  in  bloom.  I  showed  her  my 
old-fashioned  garden  already  be- 
ginning to  look  at  home  in  its 
charming  environments,  showing 
here  and  there  a  sweet  confusion  of 
flowers. 

"  An'  did  yer  grandmither  die 
young?"  inquired  Mrs.  Sullivan, 
showing  much  interest. 

"  Not  so  very  old,"  I  replied.  "  It 
must  have  been  a  terrible  wrench 
to  her  to  leave  her  garden.  Her 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       171 

last  words  were,  '  Raise  me  up  that 
I  may  look  out  upon  my  flowers/  ' 

A  sympathetic  tear  glistened  in 
my  neighbour's  eye  and  she  lin- 
gered for  a  long  time  above  the 
beds. 

When  she  was  ready  to  go  the 
basket  was  running  over  with  flow- 
ers; yet,  you  would  not  guess  that 
the  garden  had  lost  one  bloom. 
And  this  is  the  way,  oh,  gardener, 
—  bless  your  flowers  and  give  them 
freely;  then,  only,  will  they  mul- 
tiply and  wax  beautiful. 

Down  near  the  gate  we  came 
upon  Pat  straightening  a  border. 

"Is  it  ye,  Mr.  Monahan?"  said 
Mrs.  Sullivan. 

"'Tis  thot  same.  I  hopes  yer 
well,  mum?  " 

"  So,  so,  Mr.  Monahan." 

"  An'  how  is  yer  mither?  " 


172      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Shure,  she's  ailin' ;  but  her  in- 
tellict  is  grand!  But  how  is  yer 
wife,  Mr.  Monahan?" 

"  Bridget  is  well,  shure." 

"  Say  now,  Mr.  Monahan,  is  she 
as  great  fur  cookin'  as  iver?  " 

"  Ivery  bit,  Mrs.  Sullivan." 

"  Arrah,  'tis  the  foine  soup  she 
can  make!  Ah,  Mr.  Monahan, 
fortinit  ye  wor,  to  marry  sich  a 
cook." 

Pat  gave  his  spade  a  vicious  little 
dig  into  the  border. 

"  Good  arternoon,  Mrs.  Sulli- 
van," he  said. 

"  The  same  to  ye,  Mr.  Monahan." 

When  we  reached  the  gate  the 
good  soul  looked  at  me  —  the  tears 
were  in  her  eyes. 

"  God  bless  ye,"  she  cried ; 
"  there's  few  as  'ud  tak  so  mooch 
trouble  for  a  poor  woman  loike  me- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       173 


silf.     Shure,  we  ain't  in  the  same 
station  at  all,  at  all !  " 

"  Indeed,  we  are,"  I  returned 
cheerfully.  "  What  am  I  but  a  poor 
country  gardener?" 


MR.   SIMMONS 
AND  I  SOLVE  A  XII 
PROBLEM 


HAD  been  out 
all  the  afternoon 
on  the  lake, 
when  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I 
should  like  to  see  Priscilla  Brown. 
There  was  a  letter  tucked  away  in 
my  pocket  which  I  thought  might 
interest  her.  In  it,  a  certain  young 
man  said  that  he  was  pining  for  the 
country.  He  wished  me  to  measure 
the  scarlet  creepers  and  to  write 
him  just  when  I  thought  they 
would  completely  cover  the  sum- 
mer-house. I  had  written  back  that 

174 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       175 


the  scarlet  creepers  were  now  ex- 
actly two  yards  and  three  quarters 
high,  and  if  they  kept  on  growing 
at  their  present  rate  of  speed,  why, 
it  could  not  be  many  weeks  before 
that  summer-house,  built  exclu- 
sively for  two,  would  be  ready  for 
occupancy. 

I  thought  of  Priscilla,  but  I  did 
not  leave  the  boat.  It  was  so  pleas- 
ant on  the  lake,  with  just  a  little 
wind  rippling  round  me,  and  over- 
head, the  bluest  sort  of  a  sky  piled 
full  of  snow-white  clouds;  then  I 
was  watching  a  kingfisher.  If  you 
have  never  watched  a  kingfisher 
you  have  missed  a  good  deal  in  life. 
He  is  a  handsome  fellow,  and 
wears,  like  Joseph  in  the  Bible,  a 
coat  of  many  colours.  I  gazed  from 
behind  a  little  screen  of  rushes,  and 
saw  him  sitting  motionless  upon 


-/ 


176       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


the  dead  branch  of  a  fallen  tree 
which  overhangs  the  water;  peer- 
ing with  bright,  alert  eyes  into  the 
brown  shallows.  I  became  almost 
as  much  interested  in  his  fishing  as 
he  was;  and  felt  like  crying  "  Hur- 
rah ! "  when  suddenly  he  darted 
downward  and  came  up  with  a  fish 
in  his  stout  beak.  He  was  off  to 
his  mate;  and  perhaps,  even  now, 
they  have  a  nest  of  young  ones.  I 
pictured  to  myself  his  home,  built 
of  fish  bones,  in  some  convenient 
hole  or  bank;  the  larger  bones  at 
the  bottom  and  the  smaller  and 
daintier  ones  at  the  top;  all  of 
which  he  contrives  to  round  and 
glue  into  a  wonderful  nest.  Won- 
derful kingfisher! 

The  fishing  over,  I  beached  my 
boat  and  took  the  path  across  the 
fields.  Presently  I  came  to  the  low 


-yl 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       177 

wall  which  separates  the  meadow 
from  the  Browns'  garden.  Here,  I 
discovered  Mr.  Brown  arrayed  in 
his  long  broadcloth  coat  and  rusty 
silk  hat,  walking  among  his  po- 
tato vines,  pushing  before  him  a 
curious-looking  little  machine  which 
had  what  appeared  to  be  an  um- 
brella hoisted  above  it. 

My  curiosity  was  so  great  that  I 
paused. 

Mr.  Brown  paused  also,  and 
gravely  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  I  said  timidly, 
for  I  had  never  before  addressed 
him;  and  there  was  something  in 
the  gentle,  dignified  air  of  the  man 
that  abashed  me.  "I  —  I  was  won- 
dering what  you  are  doing?  " 

"  Effacing  potato  bugs,"  he  said, 
politely. 

With  your  patent  bug-extermi- 


• 


178       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


nator!"  I  cried  joyfully.  "Oh, 
please  tell  me  how  you  do  it !  I  am 
so  interested! " 

"  Certainly;  "  and  he  gallantly  of- 
fered his  hand  to  help  me  over  the 
wall. 

"  It  is  a  very  simple  contrivance," 
he  remarked.  "  See,  it  is  mounted 
on  two  wheels.  Under  that  um- 
brella is  secreted  a  strong  chemical, 
the  odour  of  which  is  fatal  to  bugs, 
yet  harmless  to  plants.  As  I  push 
the  machine  a  valve  opens  and  the 
chemical  is  released.  The  odour 
instantly  overpowers  the  bugs  and 
they  drop  into  those  pans  outside 
the  wheels,  or  else  to  the  ground,  — 
quite  dead.  A  very  simple,  very 
simple  affair!  It  is  a  fine  day  but 
I  think  we  shall  have  rain.  We 
need  rain;  my  wheatfield  is  quite 
exhausted." 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       179 

I  was  not  so  easily  put  off.  "  Mr. 
Brown,"  I  said,  earnestly,  "  I  con- 
sider your  bug-exterminator  a  won- 
derful machine.  For  two  summers 
I  have  been  deeply  interested  in  the 
slaughter  of  bugs.  It  is  a  vital  ques- 
tion with  me.  That  simple  affair, 
as  you  call  it,  ought  to  net  you  a 
fortune." 

He  smiled  in  a  sweet,  sad  way 
that  touched  my  heart.  "  You  are 
young,"  he  remarked,  "  and  believe 
in  things,  but  I  am  past  seventy. 
When  I  was  your  age  —  well,  I 
should  be  almost  afraid,  now,  to 
meet  that  bright  wraith,  what  cas- 
tles I  built,  what  plans  I  cherished! 
I  saw  a  fortune  in  every  simple 
thing.  Now  I  am  like  a  clam;  I 
have  two  valves  which  I  close  se- 
curely over  my  enthusiasms.  Still," 
—  he  paused  —  "I  have  one  great 


180       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


idea  left  —  one  that  I  dream  of  by 
day  and  by  night.  All  my  other 
inventions  pale  before  it.  Ah!  —  " 
he  suddenly  drew  himself  together 
—  "  pray  excuse  me :  I  wandered 
for  a  moment.  I  must  continue 
with  my  work ;  the  potato  bug  is  an 
industrious,  far-seeking  insect  and 
multiplies  with  amazing  rapidity. 
I  should  find  myself  tuberless  but 
for  this  little  machine." 

He  replaced  his  rusty  hat,  and 
with  a  far-away  look  on  his  face, 
but  still  erect  and  stately,  pursued 
his  way  down  the  long  rows  of 
green  vines,  calmly,  serenely  catch- 
ing bugs. 

I  went  to  the  house  to  find  Pris- 
cilla. 

I  was  just  in  time  to  aid  her,  for 
Belinda  was  in  a  fit. 

We  dashed  cold  water  into  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       181 

poor  thing's  face  and  chafed  her 
wrists  and  temples. 

When  she  had  revived,  and  Pris- 
cilla  had  gone  to  make  her  a  cup 
;of  strong  coffee,  Belinda  confided  to 
me  that  she  would  never  have  had 
that  fit  —  but  for  Mr.  Brown. 

It  seems  that  very  morning  he 
had  ordered  her  to  kill  all  the  fowls, 
having  read  in  the  newspaper  that 
dressed  poultry  was  fetching  a  high 
price  in  the  market.  He  explained 
j  that  he  needed  the  money  to  perfect 
his  air-ship. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  sobbed  poor  Be- 
linda. "  Them  hens  is  our  main- 
stay. Master's  even  mortgaged  the 
/place  for  that  dum  balloon.  I  do 
think  he's  gone  clean  crazy." 

I  agreed  with  her  and  felt  really 
troubled  over  that  indispensable 
flock  of  poultry. 


182       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Did  you  tell  Mr.  Brown  the 
facts?"  I  asked. 

"  I  did,"  sniffed  poor  Belinda ; 
"  but  he  said  the  crops  was  all  look- 
ing fine  and  we  shouldn't  need  the 
hens.  God  o'  mercy,  what  shall  I 
do!" 

She  was  growing  so  excited  that 
I  feared  another  fit.  I  did  my  best 
to  calm  her  by  telling  her  I  was  sure 
I  could  think  of  some  way  out  of 
the  difficulty;  and  what  she  must 
do,  while  I  was  thinking,  was  to 
close  her  eyes  and  rest. 

The  poor  thing  was  glad  enough 
to  obey  me;  and  I  could  see  by  her 
look  of  confidence  that  she  expected 
great  things  from  me. 

I  sat  beside  her  for  an  hour,  while 
Priscilla  busied  herself  preparing 
the  evening  meal  for  her  father.  I 
did  some  deep  thinking,  but  all  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       183 

no  purpose.  The  hens  were  Mr. 
Brown's  and  he  had  a  right  to  sell 
them,  Belinda  or  no  Belinda;  and 
judging  from  my  recent  acquaint- 
ance with  him,  I  felt  pretty  sure  he 
would  accomplish  his  end  without 
regard  to  her  wishes. 

When  she  awoke,  I  whispered  to 
her  —  for  Priscilla  was  in  the  next 
room  and  the  door  between  was 
wide  open  —  that  I  must  go  home ; 
but  I  would  send  her  some  word  in 
the  morning.  In  the  meantime  she 
was  not  to  worry ;  everything  would 
surely  end  all  right. 

It  was  an  evening  in  which  to  re- 
joice. The  sunset  was  superb. 
From  my  boat  on  the  lake  I 
watched  it;  and  had  it  not  been 
for  those  hens,  I  could  have  asked 
for  nothing  more. 

That  I  had  forgotten  to  show  my 


184       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


letter  to  Priscilla,  proved  that  I  was 
greatly  troubled;  but  it  mattered 
little,  as  I  should  certainly  be 
obliged  to  go  over  in  the  morning 
to  tell  Belinda  I  could  think  of  noth- 
ing to  do.  She  must  obey  Mr. 
Brown  —  sell  the  hens,  and  if  need 
be  —  starve.  This  painful  duty 
done,  I  could  read  the  letter  to  Pris- 
cilla. I  was  deep  in  this  serious 
problem  when  the  soft  dip  of  oars 
behind  me  startled  me.  I  turned 
and  beheld  my  friend  —  the  minis- 
ter. 

He  looked  so  serene  and  happy 
that  I  envied  him.  To  be  sure,  he 
was  not  troubled  by  a  flock  of  hens. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly. "  Are  you  enjoying  the  sun- 
set?" 

"  Good  evening,"  I  returned ;  "  I 
was  trying  to  enjoy  it." 


if) 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       185 


Trying?"  He  looked  a  little 
peculiar.  "  I  supposed  it  was  never 
an  effort  for  you  to  appreciate  na- 
ture, Mrs.  Elliot." 

"  It  is  not,"  I  said  more  cheer- 
fully; "but  you  see,  one  cannot 
think  of  two  things  at  the  same 
time." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  was,  and  succeeding  poorly." 
I  rocked  the  boat  a  little  impa- 
tiently. "  I  wish,"  I  said  presently, 
"  one  need  not  worry  about  one's 
neighbour;  "  and  then,  as  he  looked 
so  masterful,  so  helpful,  with  his 
clear-cut  face  and  wealth  of  silvery 
hair  outlined  against  the  glowing 
sky,  I  took  him  into  my  confidence. 
I  told  him  of  the  eccentricities  of 
Mr.  Brown,  his  altogether  imprac- 
tical ideas;  the  sweetness  and  trust 
of  his  daughter  Priscilla,  and  the 


186       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


distressing  fear  of  the  faithful  old 
servant. 

"  He  is  so  determined  in  his 
ways,"  I  concluded,  "  that  Belinda 
must  surely  part  with  the  hens. 
The  poor  old  thing  fell  into  a  fit 
over  it.  To  pacify  her,  I  agreed  to 
think  of  some  way  out  of  the  dif- 
ficulty, but  so  far  I  have  been  abso- 
lutely unable  to." 

"  One  might  offer  to  buy  the 
hens?"  he  suggested. 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  I  said 
dubiously,  "but  then  Mr.  Brown 
would  insist  upon  delivering  them: 
and  what  could  I  do  with  a  whole 
flock  of  hens?  Hens  are  so  healthy 
and  cheerful  that  I  should  never 
find  the  heart  to  kill  one.  They 
would  multiply,  and  soon  my 
Earthly  Paradise  would  be  a  mere 
poultry  farm." 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       187 

"  That  would  never  do,"  he  said, 
laughing. 

"  And  poor  Belinda,"  I  continued, 
"  would  be  no  better  off  in  the  end ; 
for  Mr.  Brown  would  squander  the 
money.  We  must  think  of  some- 
thing better.  Mr.  Simmons,"  I  said 
impressively,  "  you  row  around  the 
lake  in  that  direction  and  I  will  take 
this.  Let  us  think  deeply  upon  the 
subject.  Perhaps,  when  we  meet 
again,  an  inspiration  will  have  come 
to  one  of  us." 

"A  good  idea,"  he  cried;  and 
picking  up  his  oars,  rowed  briskly 
away,  I  following  his  example. 
When  we  met,  Mr.  Simmons  still 
looked  puzzled,  but  my  face  was 
bright  with  inspiration. 

"I  have  it!"  I  exclaimed,  de- 
lightedly; "  I  shall  purchase  one  of 
Mr.  Brown's  patent  bug-extermi- 


188 


Midsummer  Wooing 


nators.  That  will  give  him  some 
ready  money,  and  perhaps  save  the 
hens."  Then  I  proceeded  to  ex- 
plain to  Mr.  Simmons  the  merits  of 
this  wonderful  invention. 

"  How  have  we  lived  without  it?  " 
he  said  gayly ;  "  and  I  with  a  po- 
tato patch!  I  shall  go  to-morrow 
morning  and  purchase  one  myself 
ISg  from  Mr.  Brown." 

"  No,"  I  said  firmly,  "  I  shall  go 
over  in  the  morning.  Remember  I 
am  already  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Brown." 

"  But,"  demurred  the  minister, 
"  suppose  he  should  have  but  one 
bug-exterminator.  You  would  get 
ahead  of  me." 

'  That  is  your  risk,"  I  said,  seri- 
ously; then  we  bade  each  other 
good-bye,  for  the  sunset  was  fast 
fading  and  the  dusky  openings  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       189 

the  woods  were  turning  purple.  I 
knew  Max  would  be  at  home,  wait- 
ing for  me.  So  he  was,  and  quite 
vexed;  for  Max  seems  to  think  his 
home-coming  should  always  find 
me  there  to  greet  him.  Just  as  if 
I  had  not  business  of  my  own  once 
in  a  while! 

That  evening  I  spent  a  good  deal 
of  time  calculating.  I  found  it 
would  take  some  close  figuring  to 
enable  me  to  purchase  a  bug-ex- 
terminator. It  is  quite  unwise  to 
figure  just  at  bedtime.  My  brain 
refused  to  quiet  down ;  it  even  took 
upon  itself  the  task  of  counting  Be- 
linda's hens;  and  reckoning  up  (if 
she  were  obliged  to  sell  them)  the 
money  Mr.  Brown  would  derive 
from  the  sacrifice.  Certainly,  if 
Belinda  had  so  many  hens  and  each 
hen  weighed  so  many  pounds  and 


190       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


each  pound  brought  so  many  cents, 
why  —  right  here  I  got  up  and 
bound  a  wet  towel  around  my  head. 
Even  then  I  could  not  go  to  sleep. 
At  midnight  I  woke  Max. 

"  Max,"  I  said,  shaking  him, 
"  don't  you  remember  two  years 
ago  last  August,  one  day,  when  you 
wanted  to  pay  the  butter  man,  and 
did  not  have  the  money,  I  loaned 
you  five  dollars?  " 

"I  suppose  so;  but  go  to  sleep." 

'  Well,  it  has  just  occurred  to  me 
that  you  did  not  pay  back  that  five 
dollars." 

"  Heavens,  what  a  memory!  Do 
let  me  sleep." 

"I  need  the  money,"  I  said,  sol- 
emnly. 

"Oh,  Judith,"  groaned  Max, 
"  please  let  me  alone !  " 

But  I  was  heartless.    "  Will  you 


$ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       191 

pay  me  that  money  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  sighed,  "  if  I  can 
only  have  peace  now." 

I  kissed  him  tenderly,  then  I 
turned  on  my  pillow  and  threw 
away  the  wet  towel.  I  felt  I  could 
sleep;  for  that  extra  five  dollars 
would  just  enable  me  to  pay  what 
my  conscience  thought  right  to  Mr. 
Brown  for  a  patent  bug-extermi- 
nator. 


/   PURCHASE 
A  PATENT  BUG-  XIII 
EXTERMINATOR 


^SELDOM  stay 
late  in  bed,  for 
I  cannot  bear  to 
lose  the  freshness 
of  the  early  day: 
the  time  when  all  the  flowers  look 
newly  washed  and  every  grass- 
blade  sparkles  with  dew;  but  this 
morning  I  overslept.  I  imagine  it 
was  owing  to  my  anxiety  of  the 
night.  As  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  felt 
something  light  across  them,  ob- 
scuring the  sight.  I  raised  my  hand 
and  brushed  aside  the  five-dollar 
bill  Max  had  promised  me.  "  What 

192 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       193 

a  dear,  thoughtful  fellow  he  is ! "  I 
commented,  as  I  hurriedly  dressed 
and  ran  down  the  stairs.  Max  was 
already  seated  at  the  breakfast 
table. 

"  Did  you  find  it?  "  he  inquired. 

"Find  what?"  I  asked  inno- 
cently. 

"  Why,  the  money  I  placed  across 
your  eyes  to  induce  sweet  dreams." 

"  Yes,  dear  boy,"  I  said  tenderly; 
"  and  I  am  so  thankful  that  you  are 
willing  to  pay  your  debts." 

"  I  should  have  little  peace,  if  I 
were  not,"  grumbled  Max. 

I  seated  myself  opposite  him,  not 
in  the  least  ruffled,  and  we  chatted 
merrily  until  he  rose  to  go.  Sud- 
denly a  question  occurred  to  me: 

"  Max,"  I  said,  "  at  what  season 
of  the  year  does  poultry  bring  the 
highest  price?  " 


194      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Are  you  going  to  sacrifice  your 
precious  pair?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  indeed;  but  do  please  an- 
swer my  question." 

"  Well,"  pretending  to  look  very 
wise,  "  along  about  Thanksgiving 
or  Christmas,  I  fancy." 

"  I  thought  so,"  I  said,  relieved. 

"  Still,  if  you  depend  too  closely 
upon  my  judgment,"  continued 
Max,  "  you  may  lose  a  cent  or  so 
a  pound.  Remember  that,  Judith." 

"Don't  joke,"  I  said  sternly; 
"  the  lives  of  at  least  a  hundred 
fowls  hang  upon  your  judgment." 

He  raised  his  hands  in  mock  hor- 
ror. "  So  many !  "  he  cried. 

"  It  is  time  you  went,"  I  said. 
"  Good-bye." 

He  left  me  and  I  hurried  about 
my  morning  duties;  for  my  mind 
was  intent  upon  getting  to  Mr. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       195 

Brown's  as  soon  as  possible.  How- 
ever, I  had  promised  to  help  Pat 
train  the  morning-glories ;  and  this 
must  be  attended  to  before  I  could 
step  into  my  boat  and  row  away. 

When  I  reached  Mr.  Brown's  the 
first  person  I  encountered  was  Pris- 
cilla.  She  was  walking  down  the 
path  to  the  lake. 

I  kissed  her  joyfully;  then,  as  we 
sat  side  by  side  at  the  foot  of  an  old 
tree,  I  read  her  my  letter  and 
watched  the  soft  colour  come  and 
go  in  her  delicate  cheeks. 

"  What  I  admire  most  in  Mr. 
Warren,"  I  said,  as  I  folded  my 
letter,  "  is  his  high  regard  for  plants. 
He  would  make  an  excellent  flo- 
rist." 

She  smiled  but  kept  silent. 

"  Priscilla,"  I  remarked  pres- 
ently, "  I  want  to  ask  a  real  favour 


196      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


of  you.  When  Mr.  Warren  does 
come  to  visit  me,  won't  you  be  a 
little  nice  to  him,  just  to  help  me 
out?  Country  life  is  so  dull  for  a 
young  man,  and  I  find  he  must  be 
entertained." 

'What  can  I  do?"  she  inquired. 

"  You  can  go  about  with  us,"  I 
said.  "  I  want  to  take  him  to  the 
top  of  Eagle's  Cliff  and  to  half  a 
dozen  other  places." 

"  But  father  may  not  like  —  " 

"  He  will,"  I  interrupted,  "  when 
he  knows  that  I  shall  chaperon  you. 
Come  now,  promise." 

She  smiled  and  blushed  deeply. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said. 

I  knew  my  case  was  won,  for 
Priscilla  always  lives  up  to  her 
word.  "  And  now,"  I  said,  rising, 
"  I  have  come  to  see  your  father  on 
business." 


"Country  life  is  so  dull  for  a  young  man,  and  I  find 
he  must  be  entertained" 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       197 

"  He  is  at  work,"  she  said  doubt- 
fully. "  I  fear  —  but  of  course  he 
will  see  you." 

"Where  is  he?"  I  asked. 

"  In  the  orchid  house." 

I  left  her,  and  made  my  way 
through  the  garden  to  the  old  glass 
house  that  had  been  used  by  a 
former  tenant  for  orchids;  there  I 
found  Mr.  Brown  deep  in  medita- 
tion beside  his  air-ship. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  I  said,  briskly,  "  I 
would  like  to  purchase  one  of  your 
bug-exterminators." 

He  eyed  me  hazily,  and  his  mind 
appeared  to  be  struggling  back  to 
the  realities  of  life. 

"I  —  I  did  not  understand  you," 
he  said. 

I  repeated  my  desire. 

His  lank  face  brightened. 

"  Ah,  let  me  see  —  have  I  one  to 


*vs 


5, 


198       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


part  with?  Why,  to  be  sure;  please 
to  follow  me,  Mrs.  Elliot." 

We  went  back  through  the  gar- 
den to  the  barn;  and  from  a  little 
room  which  was  originally  in- 
tended to  store  harnesses,  Mr. 
Brown  produced  three  of  his  ma- 
chines. 

"  I  had  these  extra  ones  made," 
he  said,  "  thinking  the  first  model 
might  give  out.  Pray  take  your 
choice,  Mrs.  Elliot." 

Unable  to  see  any  difference,  I 
chose  the  one  nearest  to  me. 

"  Now,"  I  said,  "  let  me  pay  you, 
Mr.  Brown." 

"  Don't  speak  of  paying,"  he 
said,  loftily.  "  The  machine  is  of 
no  consequence  to  me.  You  are 
very  welcome  to  it." 

I  was  nonplussed.  He  looked  so 
stately,  so  every  inch  the  old-school 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       199 


gentleman,  that  I  scarcely  dared 
repeat  my  offer. 

"I  —  I  could  not  accept  it  with- 
out paying  for  it,"  I  finally  said, 
hesitatingly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have 
no  use  for  it." 

"Because,"  I  stammered;  "oh, 
well,  you  see  —  it  isn't  my  way  ; 
and  it  is  such  a  wonderful  machine; 
it  will  be  so  useful  to  me!  When 
I  think  of  the  bugs  I  shall  kill, 
why  —  " 

Mr.  Brown  looked  bored  ;  I  could 
see  that  he  was  anxious  to  return 
to  his  work. 

"  You  are  perfectly  welcome  to 
it,"  he  repeated. 

"  No,"  I  said,  very  firmly,  and 
counted  out  twenty  dollars.  "  You 
certainly  must  take  as  much  as 
that,  Mr.  Brown." 


200      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

His  eyes  brightened  a  trifle,  and 
I  felt  he  realized  his  need;  but  he 
said,  gently  pushing  the  money 
aside,  "No,  no!" 

"Yes,  yes,"  I  pleaded;  "I  only 
fear  it  is  not  half  enough ; "  and  I 
laid  the  money  on  a  little  bench  and 
prepared  to  move  away. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said  pom- 
pously, "  that  you  cannot  accept  a 
trifling  gift  from  a  neighbour,  Mrs. 
Elliot;  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  con- 
tradict a  lady.  It  shall  be  as  you 
wish." 

"  My  gardener  will  come  after 
the  machine,"  I  said,  greatly  re- 
lieved. 

"  But  here  is  the  liquid,"  he  con- 
tinued, reaching  for  a  large  bottle 
from  a  shelf.  "You  must  pour  a 
little  into  this  nozzle,  which,  you 
observe,  unscrews;"  and  in  a  few 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       201 

words  he  explained  to  me  the 
workings  of  the  machine. 

I  thanked  him  and  together  we 
passed  out.  As  our  way  lay  past 
the  hen  pasture,  I  remarked : 

'  You  keep  fowls,  I  see." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Brown;  "but 
I  have  ordered  my  servant  to  kill 
them.  Poultry  is  fetching  a  high 
price  in  the  market." 

"Indeed,"  I  said;  "but  don't 
you  think  it  rather  early  in  the  sea- 
son to  dispose  of  poultry,  Mr. 
Brown?  They  tell  me  that  later 
on  it  will  fetch  a  much  higher 
price.  I  have  a  pair  of  fowls;  but 
I  shall  not  dispose  of  them  yet 
awhile." 

"  You  think  it  is  best  to  wait?  " 

"  Decidedly  so;  if  one  desires  the 
highest  market  value." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 


202       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"I  shall  tell  Belinda  to  hold  the 
fowls.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  El- 
liot," and  presently  the  door  of  the 
orchid  house  closed  behind  him.  I 
could  see  through  the  glass  that  he 
had  again  resumed  that  reverent, 
self-absorbed  attitude,  lost  in  the 
contemplation  of  aerial  flight. 

But  the  hens  were  saved. 

I  went  to  tell  Belinda.  The  poor 
creature  wept  for  joy. 

That  evening  on  the  lake,  by  ap- 
pointment, I  met  Mr.  Simmons. 
We  were  each  the  happy  possessor 
of  a  bug-exterminator. 

He  related  to  me  his  experience 
with  Mr.  Brown.  That  gentleman 
had  at  first  refused  to  see  him.  "  I 
think  they  took  me  for  an  agent," 
said  Mr.  Simmons,  laughingly; 
"but  I  persisted,  and  his  beautiful 
daughter  led  me  to  an  old  green- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       203 


house  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 
Here  I  found  Mr.  Brown  standing 
beside  a  queer-looking  machine, 
which  I  found  out  later  was  a  bona- 
fide  air-ship.  I  was  so  interested  in 
the  thing  that  I  came  near  forget- 
ting my  real  errand.  But  at  last, 
I  recalled  it  and  said  :  *  Mr.  Brown, 
I  hear  that  you  have  invented  an 
insect-exterminator.  The  "  New 
Eden  "  —  my  garden,  I  mean  — 
has  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  bugs. 
I  have  come  over  in  the  hope  that 
I  may  be  so  fortunate  as  to  pur- 
chase a  machine  from  you/ 

"  He  looked  a  trifle  bored.  I 
could  see  that  he  had  much  rather 
continue  our  conversation  concern- 
ing the  air-ship;  but  I  insisted  and 
at  last  he  led  me  to  the  barn.  Here 
he  produced  two  of  the  queerest- 
looking  machines  I  ever  saw. 


204       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  He  told  me  I  was  welcome  to 
my  choice,  and  when  I  inquired  the 
price,  declared  it  was  of  no  conse- 
quence. '  Just  take  one  and  go/  he 
said.  I  began  to  think  our  plan  null 
and  void;  but  I  am  excellent  at 
arguing;  so  I  convinced  Mr.  Brown 
that  I  should  feel  belittled  in  my 
own  mind,  if  he  refused  to  accept 
money  for  the  scientific  insect-ex- 
terminator. 

"  He  yielded  —  very  reluctantly 
—  and  for  fear  that  he  might  re- 
pent, having  learned  that  I  was  a 
minister,  I  hastily  shouldered  the 
machine  and  made  off.  To-mor- 
row —  " 

"  Oh,  look/'  I  broke  in  excitedly, 
"you  have  a  bite,  Mr.  Simmons!" 
He  had  a  line  thrown  from  the  boat 
and  I  could  see  the  cork  bobbing 
vigorously  upon  the  water. 


"YJ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       205 

He  quickly  drew  in  and  hauled 
up  a  fine  bass.  "Seven!"  he  said 
triumphantly. 

I  rowed  back  a  little  so  as  not 
to  disturb  any  unwary  fish;  but 
though  he  cast  his  line  repeatedly 
he  was  not  again  successful. 

"  I  shall  not  try  to  catch  more," 
he  said,  winding  up  the  reel,  "  I 
have  enough  for  breakfast." 

"  Did  you  see  me  in  church  last 
Sunday?"  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  recognized 
you." 

"  And  I  really  liked  the  sermon," 
I  continued.  "  It  was  very  en- 
couraging; quite  unlike  the  most 
of  sermons." 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  because ;  after  I  had  lis- 
tened to  it,  I  felt  in  just  as  good 
spirits  as  when  I  entered  the 


206       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


church.     This  is  quite  unusual  for 
me." 

"  Explain  yourself." 
"  Well,  you  see,  ministers  are  so 
harsh.  I  have  often  been  called  a 
child  of  Satan,  a  worm,  an  empty 
vessel.  I  don't  enjoy  such  names. 
I  don't  like  to  think  God  is  angry 
with  me,  when  I  am  so  pleased  with 
Him  and  the  world  He  has  put  me 
in.  He  couldn't  have  fashioned  a 
more  contented  creature  than  I  am, 
so  long  as  I  have  a  garden  and 
there  is  no  one  to  cross  me.  Oh, 
I  don't  know  why  it  is!  Often, 
when  I  go  to  church,  I  feel  low- 
spirited;  but  if  I  stay  at  home  and 
•A  go  out  in  the  lily  patch  I  feel  that 
/  God  is  right  beside  me.  I  think  I 
must  worship  an  outdoor  God." 

The  minister  laughed.     "  I  used 
to   call  names,"   he   said;    "for   I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       207 

thought  people  could  only  be  made 
good  by  pointing  out  how  awfully 
wicked  they  might  be.  '  Worm  of 
the  dust '  was  quite  a  choice  phrase 
with  me.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  I 
happened  to  change  about?" 

"  Do,"  I  said. 

"  I  was  very  ill  once,  and  people 
—  friends,  you  know  —  dropped  in 
to  see  me.  Nearly  all  of  them  told 
me  of  some  one  who  was  worse  off 
than  myself.  They  related  the 
most  alarming  symptoms  pos- 
sessed by  this  other  man,  and 
ended  by  congratulating  me  that  I 
was  not  like  him.  I  had  always 
supposed  that  we  could  estimate 
our  blessings  only  by  comparison; 
but  will  you  believe  me,  I  found 
that  I  felt  no  better  to  learn  that 
Mr.  Jones'  life  hung  by  a  hair;  his 
alarming  symptoms  did  not  com- 


208       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

fort  me  in  the  least  or  lessen  the 
pain  I  had  to  bear.  I  was  not  more 
grateful;  in  truth,  I  was  ungrate- 
ful. I  began  to  wish  the  invalids 
would  die  or  else  the  people  would 
die  who  came  to  tell  me  about 
them;  I  did  not  much  care  which. 
"  But  among  my  friends  was  one 
man  who  never  mentioned  an  ail- 
ment. He  would  always  tell  me  of 
some  one  who  was  so  much  better 
off  than  myself;  of  people  who  pos- 
sessed rugged  health.  One  day  he 
dropped  in  and  spent  an  hour  di- 
lating upon  the  good  points  of  a 
young  man  who  had  never  been  ill 
in  his  life.  After  my  friend  had 
gone,  my  mind  dwelt  upon  this 
very  healthy  young  person.  The 
more  I  thought  about  him,  the  bet- 
ter I  felt;  until,  at  last,  it  flashed 
upon  me  like  a  great  truth :  to  think 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       209 

of  strength  begets  strength.  I  re- 
membered the  words  of  St.  Paul: 
'  Whatsoever  things  are  true,  what- 
soever things  are  honest,  whatso- 
ever things  are  just,  whatsoever 
things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things 
are  of  good  report;  if  there  be 
any  virtue,  if  there  be  any  praise, 
think  on  these  things.' 

"  I  arose  from  the  sick  bed  a 
changed  man.  One  day  I  said  to 
my  wife,  '  Dearie,  can  you  afford  to 
be  a  little  poorer?  ' 

"  She  smiled  and  said,  '  Yes,  if 
you  can ; '  and  that  settled  it. 

"  Next  Sunday  I  resigned  my 
charge  in  a  fashionable  church. 

"'1  want  to  preach  to  "sin- 
ners," '  I  told  the  officers  of  the 
church.  *  Some  one  else  can  minis- 
ter to  these  saints  who  rent  their 
pews  by  the  year/ 


210       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Somehow,  my  ideas  crept  into 
the  newspapers;  and  before  two 
weeks  were  over,  I  had  received 
three  calls  to  churches  that  assured 
me  that  there  was  not  a  saint 
among  them. 

"  I  chose  the  poorest  church. 
The  first  Sunday  I  preached,  the 
house  was  crowded  with  '  sinners/ 
as  they  called  themselves.  The 
pews  were  free  and  there  was  no 
fixed  salary  to  be  paid  the  pastor  — 
only  voluntary  contributions  —  so 
I  felt  myself  a  free  man.  I  was  no 
longer  a  hireling;  I  could  say  what 
I  pleased.  '  Sinners,'  I  said,  '  there 
is  hope  for  you;  but  if  you  expect 
me  to  tell  you  how  to  mend  your 
sins  you  will  be  disappointed.  Com- 
parisons have  become  odious  to 
me;  I  shall  only  tell  you  of  the 
good  things  God  has  done  for  all 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       211 


alike;  the  birthright  of  strength 
and  happiness  that  He  intends  for 
every  living  soul/ 

"  Then  I  preached  them  a  ser- 
mon of  good  cheer.  When  I  had 
finished  I  remarked:  'Now,  I  shall 
not  expect  this  crop  of  sinners  to 
be  present  at  the  evening  service; 
just  stay  away  and  let  others  come.' 
They  obeyed  me  ;  and  I  looked  that 
night  upon  a  fresh  crowd  of  un- 
familiar faces. 

"  So  it  went  on.  I  became  a  reg- 
ular blessing-hunter.  Everywhere 
I  sought  for  good  on  this  earth. 
How  did  I  succeed?  Why,  some 
Sundays  it  seemed  to  me  I  couldn't 
get  the  good  I  had  discovered  into 
the  whole  church.  I  was  so  eager 
to  tell  about  it,  that  I  cut  short  the 
prayers.  Do  you  know,"  and  Mr. 
Simmons  turned  the  boat  a  trifle  to 


212      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


the  right,  "  there  are  no  would-be 
sinners;  there  are  no  utterly  hard- 
ened hearts.  I  don't  believe  there 
is  a  soul  in  this  world  that  really 
wants  to  be  bad.  Poor  things,  they 
are  only  astray;  they  need  to  be 
encouraged,  to  be  told  of  joy  and 
love,  to  be  led  gently  back  to  paths 
of  peace." 

"  How  did  you  address  those  sin- 
ners? "  I  inquired. 

"As  sons  of  God!" 

"And  you  did  not  tell  them  the 
world  was  teeming  with  wicked- 
ness? " 

"  I  told  them  it  was  running  over 
with  good,  and  I  believe  it  is." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  what  happened 
next?" 

"A  revival,"  replied  Mr.  Sim- 
mons, "  that  astonished  me." 

"  Hush !   I  hear  a  wood-thrush," 


*v\ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       213 


I  whispered.  "  He  is  just  begin- 
ning to  sing." 

We  rowed  our  boats  nearer  in- 
land to  listen.  Have  you  ever 
heard  the  wood-thrush?  Have  you 
ever  been  out  on  a  quiet  lake  and 
caught  his  first  liquid  notes?  Oh, 
I  hope  you  have  for  your  own  sake. 

The  departing  sun  had  ploughed 
the  water  —  turning  up  furrows  of 
gold;  the  hills  rose  deeply  purple 
against  a  daffodil  sky  and  the  wood 
opposite  was  vaguely  blurred.  It 
was  time  for  evening  song. 

We  sat  in  the  chastened  light  and 
listened  to  that  heavenly  voice 
dropping  its  melody  earthward. 

When  it  ceased  for  a  moment,  I 
said:  "  Pythagoras  has  told  us  that 
the  penalty  to  the  soul  of  a  man  is 
to  return  to  this  earth  in  the  form 
of  a  woman;  but  to  a  woman,  she 


214       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


shall  return  as  a  bird.    I  should  like 
to  be  a  wood-thrush." 

Our  songster  flitted  away.  It 
was  time  to  go  home. 

I  rowed  a  space,  then  returned. 
"  I  have  just  thought  of  something 
else,"  I  said.  "  It  is  Thoreau's  trib- 
ute to  the  wood-thrush.  He  says, 
in  his  inimitable  way: 

'  Here  is  a  bird  in  whose  strain 
the  story  is  told.  Whenever  a  man 
hears  it,  he  is  young  and  nature  is 
in  her  spring.  Wherever  he  hears 
it,  there  is  a  new  world  and  a  new 
country,  and  the  gates  of  heaven 
are  not  shut  against  him/  " 

"Ah!"  breathed  the  minister, 
"  and  Higginson  says,  '  Flutes  and 
flageolets  are  art's  poor  effort  to 
recall  that  softer  sound.'  " 

"And  was  it  not  he,"  I  asked, 
who  said  of  a  bird's  egg,  '  It  is  as 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       215 

if  a  pearl  opened  and  an  angel 
sang?'" 

I  could  have  kept  on  quoting  to 
that  minister;  but  the  sun  was 
quite  gone  and  violet  shadows  were 
edging  the  lake,  looking  almost 
black  among  the  tall  rushes.  So  I 
said  "Good  night;"  but  repented 
and  called  back: 

"  Why  did  you  give  up  preaching 
to  sinners?  " 

"  'Twas  this  way,"  he  returned, 
his  voice  carrying  over  the  water: 
"  the  voluntary  contributions  went 
so  far  ahead  of  my  usual  salary  and 
I  grew  rich  so  fast,  that  I  deter- 
mined to  give  my  soul  a  little  grow- 
ing spell;  then  my  body  was  be- 
coming fagged.  When  I  am  rested 
I  shall  return  to  my  work  with  re- 
newed vigor." 

I  called  again: 


216      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Mr.  Simmons,  when  will  you 
try  the  bug-exterminator?" 

"To-morrow,"  he  replied,  "in 
my  potato  patch. 


MR.   PEGLEG 

COMES 
TO   VISIT  ME 


XIV 


AX,"  I  said  ear- 
nestly, "drive 
home  very 
slowly  and  don't 
let  the  horse  shy 
once." 

"Why?"  he  asked. 
"  Mr.  Pegleg  is  old,  you  know, 
and  not  used  to  horses,  and  I  don't 
want  to  frighten  him." 

Max  smiled.  "  I  will  bring  him 
home  safely  to  you,"  he  said;  "  but 
see  here,  Judith,  I'm  getting  a  trifle 
jealous;  there  is  Donald  Warren 
and  the  new-fangled  minister,  then 

217 


218      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


poor  Mr.  Pegleg,  whom  you  are 
always  praising." 

"  Well,  they  deserve  it,"  I  said. 

"  What  do  I  deserve?  "  he  asked. 

"Much  more,"  I  replied;  "you 
deserve  to  be  loved." 

Max  bent  to  kiss  me.  "  That  is 
just  what  I  think  of  you,  little 
wife,"  he  said. 

I  ran  into  the  house  to  consult 
with  Rhoda.  Somehow,  I  wanted 
this  month  to  be  one  of  the  happi- 
est in  Mr.  Pegleg's  life.  Rhoda  and 
I  dragged  a  great  cushioned  chair 
into  the  south  chamber  and  laid  the 
wood  for  a  fire  —  should  it  grow 
cool.  I  picked  a  handful  of  my 
choicest  roses  while  the  dew  was 
on  them.  Roses  cannot  bear  to  be 
picked  when  the  hot  sun  smites 
them;  they  droop  so  quickly;  but 
at  early  morn  and  at  evening  one 


'I 


: 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       219 

can  safely  cut  them  and  they  will 
remain  fresh  for  a  long  time.  I 
placed  my  flowers  in  a  tall  green 
vase  on  the  table  and  my  coarse 
print  Bible  beside  it:  some  little 
volumes  by  John  Burroughs,  for 
Mr.  Pegleg  loves  to  read  about  the 
birds  and  the  flowers. 

Rhoda  watched  me,  standing  in 
the  doorway,  with  arms  akimbo, 
her  favourite  attitude  in  repose. 

"  Honey,"  she  said  at  last,  "  can't 
I  mak'  dat  ole  man  a  mint-julep?" 

"  It  would  be  nice,  Rhoda,"  I 
said;  "  but  there's  liquor  in  a  mint- 
julep." 

"Jes'  a  tech,  Honey,  jes'  a  tech! 
De  mint  bed's  so  fraish!  I'se  kin 
mak'  a  mint-julep  powerful  good. 
Dey's  mighty  heartenin'." 

"  To  be  sure,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Peg- 
leg  is  past  eighty.  He  wouldn't  be 


220       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


apt  to  fall  into  bad  habits;  I  think 
you  may  make  one,  Rhoda." 

My  faithful  cook  went  off,  her 
white  teeth  shining  in  a  delighted 
smile.  I  knew  the  mint-julep  would 
be  ready  to  greet  Mr.  Pegleg;  for 
Rhoda's  heart  clings  to  Southern 
ways  and  she  is  never  so  happy  as 
when  relating  her  reminiscences  of 
"  one  ob  de  fust  famblies  in  de 
Souf." 

It  seemed  quite  a  long  day  in 
spite  of  my  work.  Pat  pulled  the 
weeds  out  of  my  old-fashioned  gar- 
den and  I  examined  every  plant  in 
the  tenderest  manner,  and  smiled 
when  I  found  it  healthy  and  eager 
to  grow.  The  little  button  roses 
were  already  in  bloom  —  looking 
so  old-fashioned  and  quaint  that  I 
drew  Pat's  attention  to  them. 

"  The    wee    darlints ! "    he    ex- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       221 

claimed;  "  shure,  they're  jest  pur- 
tindin'  to  be  roses !  I  loikes  shmall 
flowers;  an'  I  loikes  big  ones,  too," 
he  added.  "  Shure,  'tis  hard  to  say 
which  ye'll  takV 

"  Pat,"  I  remarked  later  on,  "  an 
old  gentleman  is  coming  to  visit  me, 
who  is  very  fond  of  flowers." 

"  Indade,  mum,  I'm  plazed  to 
hear  it." 

"  He  will  be  here  to-night;  and, 
Pat,  we  must  make  his  visit  just 
as  pleasant  as  possible.  You  under- 
stand, don't  you?" 

"  Shure,  mum,  thot  same  we 
must,"  replied  Pat. 

To-day  I  have  made  a  discovery : 
a  pair  of  wrens  have  rented  our  new 
bird-house.  They  came  this  morn- 
ing, I  think;  and  such  a  chattering, 
such  a  running  in  and  out  of  the 
tiny  doors !  I  spent  an  hour  watch- 


222       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


ing  them,  when  I  should  have  been 
staking  my  young  dahlias.  This 
afternoon  I  have  been  down  to  the 
brook.  The  iris  is  in  bloom,  but 
the  forget-me-not's  wee  blue  eyes 
are  nearly  closed.  Next  year,  how 
the  iris  will  have  multiplied!  My 
little  winding  brook  will  be  bor- 
dered with  the  gayest  of  colours. 
I  stood  on  the  foot-bridge  and 
looked  over  the  high  rail  fence  into 
a  field  that  adjoins  my  garden. 
The  brook  winds  through  it  like  a 
silver  ribbon:  and  this  year  the 
field  is  one  mass  of  delicious  red 
clover.  Over  it  the  bees  boom  all 
day  long;  and  oh,  the  scents  that 
were  wafted  to  me!  I  was  just 
about  to  climb  the  fence,  when  Pat 
called  to  me. 

"  Missus,"  he  said,  "  ye'd  betther 
not  cross  into  the  field;   there  is  a 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       223 

bull  in  the  lane  yender;  and  shure, 
the  fence  is  poor  enough." 

I  looked  beyond  the  field  to  the 
lane,  and  saw  a  creature  quietly 
grazing. 

It  vexed  me  to  think  I  could  not 
cross  the  fence;  for  I  had  a  fancy 
to  lie  down  in  the  clover.  I  wanted, 
for  once,  to  know  just  how  such  a 
fragrant  couch  would  feel,  and  to 
watch  for  a  while  the  great  azure 
dome  above  me.  How  the  bees 
would  buzz  around  me  and  the  but- 
terflies flit  across  my  face!  The 
more  I  thought  about  it,  the  more 
I  felt  the  presence  of  that  bull 
to  be  a  personal  affront  to  me. 
Presently,  I  perched  myself  upon  a 
rail  and  sat  listening  to  the  mead- 
ow-larks calling  in  their  sweet, 
long-drawn  "  Chaaic !  chaaic !  " 
They  had  nests  hidden  in  the  bios- 


224       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


soming  clover.  How  I  should  love 
to  spy  one  and  count  the  eggs ;  but 
not  to  disturb  it,  oh,  no! 

The  longer  I  looked  at  that  field, 
the  more  desirable  it  became.  I 
began  to  plan  —  if  I  owned  it  — 
how  I  would  plant  daffodils  along 
the  brook,  and  why  not  border  its 
four  sides  with  hedgerows?  Then 
it  would  look  like  an  English  field. 
I  would  set  out  the  tall  elderberry, 
whose  white  cymes  waver  in  the 
twilight,  like  wraiths  of  flowers; 
and  later  on  glisten  with  blood-red 
berries.  The  sumac  should  grow 
there,  its  velvety  pyramids  daintily 
pink  in  spring,  and  deepening  to 
richest  crimson  as  summer  ad- 
vanced. When  frost  touched  the 
sumac  leaves,  what  a  riot  of  scarlet 
and  gold !  I  would  have  wild  clem- 
atis creeping  round  that  field  and 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       225 

waving  in  festoons  from  the  top- 
most rails  of  the  fence,  a  prey  to 
every  gay  light  wind;  and  a  wild 
grape-vine  spreading  its  cool  green 
leaves  over  young  shrubs  and  climb- 
ing at  last  the  tall  slippery-elm  tree 
in  yonder  corner.  I  love  a  wild 
grape-vine;  its  great  leaves  are  so 
softly  lined  with  white,  and  oh, 
how  tart  are  the  little  clusters  of 
black  grapes !  And  raspberry  bushes 
I  must  have,  if  only  for  the  deli- 
cious scent  on  sunny  days,  that 
tells  plainer  than  words  that  rasp- 
berries are  ripening,  and  blackber- 
ries, too.  How  could  I  get  along 
without  blackberries,  for,  aside 
;from  the  fruit,  there  are  such  dainty 
white  clustered  blooms  in  spring 
and  such  radiant  foliage  in  autumn ! 
Then  fireflies  love  to  dart  through 
a  tangle  of  blackberry  bushes.  On 


226       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


hot  nights  in  summer,  how  I  should 
enjoy  such  a  carnival  in  my  field,  — 
those  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
busy  little  lanterns  darting  here 
and  there  in  the  gayest  confusion. 
I  should  not  forget  the  wild  roses, 
—  the  sweetbriar  with  its  faint  pink 
bloom,  and  those  other  roses  of 
deeper  tint  and  many-petalled.  I 
must  have  field-lilies,  lifting  scarlet 
cups  to  be  filled  with  dew,  from  out 
the  tall  grass;  and  buttercups  like 
imprisoned  sunshine;  gold  hearts 
and  brown-eyed  Susans;  white 
clover,  and  every  other  sweet  thing 
that  loves  a  field.  Bobolinks  would 
dash  about  in  coats  of  black  and 
white,  and  yellow  ruffs,  singing 
like  mad;  and  Bob  Whites  would 
perch  on  the  rails  of  the  fence 
to  call  "  More  wet !  more  wet !  " 
Slowly  the  clouds  would  spread 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       227 

across  the  soft  blue  sky  and  the 
refreshing  rain  come  softly  down 
upon  this  bit  of  Paradise  —  my 
field.  When  it  had  slackened,  I 
would  go  out  and  trail  and  trail 
through  the  wetness  until  my  gown 
and  petticoats  were  soaked;  then 
return  home  to  be  scolded  by  Max 
and  Rhoda.  One  can  bear  a  good 
deal  of  scolding  if  the  fun  has  been 
adequate.  But  that  bull  —  that  ter- 
rible bull  —  how  dared  he  eat  grass 
so  quietly  in  yonder  lane? 

I  sat  for  an  hour  or  more  on  the 
rail  fence  and  desired  the  field.  I 
decided  in  my  own  mind  that  with 
such  a  possession  added  to  my  gar- 
den, I  could  better  live  up  to  my 
idea  of  a  Christian  life.  There 
would  be  that  much  more  space  to 
beautify  —  in  which  to  glorify  God. 

When  at  last  I  climbed  down,  an 


228      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

idea  had  occurred  to  me  —  I  owed 
my  Aunt  Matilda  a  letter.  How 
had  I  neglected  her  so  long?  I 
hate  to  write  letters  when  the  sun 
is  shining,  but  then  it  was  my  duty ; 
and  well,  I  can  be  persuaded  to 
obey  duty  once  in  a  while.  I  wrote : 

"DEAR  AUNT  MATILDA: 

"  I  am  well  as  usual ;  why  should 
I  be  ill?  The  garden  is  growing  in 
a  way  that  delights  my  soul.  The 
next  day  after  you  left  us,  I  bought 
five  hundred  gladiolus  bulbs  and 
planted  them  beside  my  arbor- 
vitae  hedge.  I  expect  when  they 
bloom  in  late  August,  I  shall  wor- 
ship them  like  a  very  pagan.  Max 
is  well.  Yesterday  I  purchased  a 
machine  for  exterminating  bugs. 
It  was  invented  by  Mr.  Brown.  I 
fear  it  will  only  work  in  a  potato 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       229 

patch.  To-night,  Mr.  Pegleg  comes 
to  visit  me.  I  don't  like  his  name; 
it  seems  so  impolite  to  call  him  that, 
for  my  dear  old  friend  has  lost  a 
leg  and  wears  a  wooden  stump.  At 
first  I  thought  some  one  had  nick- 
named him,  but  I  found  out  differ- 
ently. Fate  is  often  unkind.  He 
is  so  fond  of  flowers  that  I  expect 
we  shall  talk  of  nothing  else.  I 
hope  your  gout  is  better?  I  often 
think  of  you.  Do  you  remember 
the  field  just  back  of  my  garden? 
Well,  I  was  going  to  cross  it  this 
afternoon  —  just  to  scent  the  red 
clover  that  is  all  in  bloom,  when 
Pat  called  to  me  that  there  was  a 
bull  in  the  lane,  just  beyond,  and 
the  fence  is  poor.  I  had  on  my  red 
shirt-waist.  I  suppose  if  I  had 
crossed  that  field  the  bull  would 
have  jumped  after  me  and  killed 


230       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


me.  If  I  only  owned  the  field  I 
should  put  up  a  high  fence  between 
it  and  the  lane;  one  that  would 
keep  out  all  dangerous  animals; 
for  I  fear  (I  am  so  absent-minded) 
that  I  may  one  day  forget  and 
enter  the  field. 

"  Dear  aunt,  I  send  you  my 
heartiest  love. 

'  Your  affectionate  niece, 
"JUDITH." 

I  put  the  letter  in  our  little  post 
box  by  the  gate  and  then  sat  down 
to  wait  patiently  for  Max. 

He  came  early;  and  when  I  saw 
beside  him  that  dear  old  face  with 
its  aureole  of  shining  white  hair,  I 
was  so  happy  that  tears  sprang  to 
my  eyes.  Mr.  Pegleg  seemed  just 
as  pleased  to  see  me.  Like  two  chil- 
dren we  walked  through  the  gar- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       231 


den.  I  showed  him  all  my  flowers, 
and  he  was  sincerely  happy  over 
them. 

How  lovely  it  is  to  have  some 
one  who  really  appreciates  your  ef- 
forts; who  seems  to  know  what 
you  are  feeling  inside  your  heart. 
Mr.  Pegleg  is  that  kind. 

He  drank  only  a  little  of  the 
mint-julep;  I  suspect  Rhoda  had 
the  rest. 


5V. 


MY  AUNTS 
DREAM 


HERE      are      all 

sorts  of  visitors. 
There  is  the  vis- 


you  so  that  you 
almost  long  for  death  —  or.  else,  to 
have  the  visitor  die.  This  is  a  per- 
son whose  spirit  is  not  akin  to 
yours.  When  you  have  conversed 
with  him  for  ten  minutes,  there  is 
nothing  left  to  talk  about ;  and  yet 
you  know  you  must  talk.  Well, 
things  get  rather  trying  after  a  lit- 
tle while. 

Then   there   is   the   visitor   who 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       233  A 


interests  you  for  a  day  or  two; 
after  that  it  is  best  for  him  to  go, 
and  best  for  you  to  see  that  he 
goes.  There  is  the  visitor  who  can 
stay  a  week  and  be  welcome  —  no 
longer.  I  rarely  go  visiting  my- 
self; for  I  have  a  notion  that 
nobody  wants  a  garden  woman 
around.  Still,  there  is  one  friend 
who  is  akin  to  me,  a  golden-haired, 
cheery,  plant-loving  soul,  that  I 
venture  to  visit.  I  do  not  feel 
strange  with  her;  for  she  can  easily 
stay  up  half  the  night  to  talk  about 
gardens.  When  we  are  discussing 
plants  and  vegetables  we  are  en- 
joying ourselves.  I  often  think  it 
strange  that  the  whole  world  does 
not  sit  down  to  these  heart-satisfy- 
ing talks.  If  all  realized  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  garden  there  would  be 
nothing  but  gardens.  Peevish 


234      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


women  would  grow  fat  and  rosy, 
cross  men  become  bearable,  and 
the  wilderness  bloom. 

Mr.  Pegleg  was  a  visitor  that 
made  me  no  trouble.  He  fitted 
into  the  garden  as  cosily  as  he  had 
fitted  into  my  greenhouse.  Then 
it  was  June  and  the  sky  was  so  di- 
vinely blue  and  the  air  so  charged 
with  ozone,  that  he  seemed  to  re- 
new his  youth.  How  briskly  his 
wooden  stump  got  over  the  ground, 
and  how  eager  he  was  to  cross  the 
bridge  with  me  to  the  grove.  Every 
morning,  after  we  had  seen  all  the 
flowers,  I  left  him  to  rest  a  while 
on  the  shady  bench  beneath  the 
morning-glories.  The  bee  on  sweet 
errands  would  boom  around  him, 
or  hide  in  the  foxglove  bells;  and 
the  butterfly  with  ethereal  wings 
dance  by.  A  saucy  wren  would 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       235 

issue  from  the  bird-house  to  sing 
his  gay  insouciant  song,  —  a  bit  of 
jargon,  not  in  the  least  spiritual. 
I  would  bid  the  dear  old  man  good- 
bye, and  go  about  my  duties.  One 
morning  he  asked  for  paper  and 
pencil.  I  brought  them;  and  often, 
during  the  long  forenoon,  passing 
and  repassing,  I  observed  him  bus- 
ily writing  I  knew  not  what,  nor 
did  I  seek  to  know. 

To-day  Araminta  came  dancing 
toward  me  with  a  letter  waving  in 
her  small  black  hand.  I  was  busy 
clipping  seed-pods  from  the  sweet 
pease.  When  one  has  a  long  trellis 
to  look  over,  why  —  letters  are  of 
small  consequence.  However,  I 
was  glad  to  hear  from  Aunt  Ma- 
tilda. She  had  received  my  letter 
and  made  haste  to  reply.  She 
wrote : 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"MY  DEAR,  DEAR  CHILD:  You 
cannot  imagine  my  feelings  when 
I  read  your  last  letter.  What  a 
narrow  escape !  I  shudder  to  think, 
had  that  bull  pursued  you!  You 
owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  your 
gardener. 

"  I  have  passed  a  fearful  night 
dreaming  of  you.  Once,  I  thought 
you  had  forgotten  and  entered  the 
field.  The  bull  was  watching  for 
you;  with  a  frightful  leap  he 
cleared  the  fence  and  charged  upon 
you.  I  saw  your  red  dress  tossing 
in  the  air.  The  shock  was  so  great 
that  I  awoke,  only  to  fall  asleep 
again  to  see  you  chased  round  and 
round  the  field  by  that  awful  crea- 
ture—  his  horns  lowered. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  niece,  hasten  to 
buy  that  field  —  you  must  buy  it. 
See  the  owner  at  once  and  get  his 


Midsummer  Wooing       237 


price.  Your  own  aunt  will  send 
the  money,  —  gladly,  gladly !  Then 
build  a  fence  ten  feet  high  of  the 
strongest  material;  put  iron  pick- 
ets on  top  of  it,  so  the  bull  cannot 
possibly  jump  over  it.  I  shall  not 
rest  easy  until  I  hear  from  you. 
My  gout  is  better. 

"  Your  loving 

"  AUNT  MATILDA." 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  I  re- 
ceived this  letter.  I  took  a  hasty 
lunch  and  started  to  interview  the 
farmer  who  owned  the  field. 

The  day  could  not  have  been 
gayer.  I  avoided  the  road  and  took 
a  short  cut,  because  I  like  to  walk 
in  the  fields.  I  felt  very  calm  and 
satisfied.  Providence  had  certainly 
been  good  to  me.  It  was  quite  clear 
that  had  the  bull  never  been  pas- 


238       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


tured  in  the  lane,  I  should  not  have 
written  that  letter  to  Aunt  Matilda. 
How  the  small  affairs  of  life  lead 
up  to  great  events!  Now,  I  should 
own  the  field  and  those  air-castles 
were  not  built  in  vain. 

Mr.  Spear,  the  farmer,  was  down 
in  the  back  pasture,  his  wife  told 
me;  but  she  offered  to  blow  the 
horn  for  him.  "  I  expect  it  will 
jest  about  scare  him  to  death,"  she 
remarked,  "  as  I  never  blow  it  only 
at  mealtime." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  he'll  think  somethin'  awful 
has  happened.  He's  allus  on  a  tee- 
ter expectin'  trouble." 

"  Don't  blow  it,"  I  said;  "  I  had 
just  as  soon  walk  down  to  the  field 
and  speak  with  him.  You  point  the 
way." 

She  did;   and  I  found  Mr.  Spear 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       239 

hard  at  work,  cutting  down  the 
shrubbery  around  a  good-sized 
field.  He  looked  very  warm,  and 
rubbed  his  shirt-sleeve  across  a  red 
and  puffy  face. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Spear,"  I 
said;  "I  am  Mrs.  Elliot." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  ma'am.  I've 
heerd  of  you!  Hope  my  critter 
hain't  broke  into  your  garding? 
'Twould  be  an  all-fired  pity  to  spile 
them  posies." 

I  assured  him  that  nothing  of  the 
sort  had  happened. 

"  Hot,  ain't  it?  "  he  remarked. 

"  Not  very,"  I  said. 

"Wall,  I  feel  so.  Them  gol- 
dum  bushes  air  hard  to  cut." 

"  Why  do  you  cut  them?  " 

"  'Cause  I  don't  care  to  have  my 
fields  look  so  shiftless." 

"  Mr.  Spear,"  I  said,  looking  him 


240       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


straight  in  the  eye,  "  you  are  ma- 
king a  mistake.  Are  you  troubled 
with  insects?  " 

"  I  sh'u'd  say  so,"  he  replied. 
"  Guess  it'll  get  so  a  man  can't 
raise  nothin'  arter  a  while.  Bugs 
gobblin'  everything.  This  year 
that  dumbed  Hessian  fly's  round. 
Sumtimes  it  seems  to  me  the  Lord's 
got  a  grudge  'gainst  farmers." 

"It  isn't  the  Lord,  Mr.  Spear; 
it's  yourself." 

"  Want  to  know!  Wall,  ole  Par- 
son Hackett  uster  say  we  was  all 
worms  o'  the  dust.  Mabbe  you 
think  'tis  my  sins;  though  I  didn't 
guess  you  was  so  all-fired  religious, 
Mrs.  Elliot." 

"  I  suppose  we  are  all  sinners, 
Mr.  Spear,"  I  replied,  "but  I  was 
not  thinking  of  that.  The  reason 
you  should  not  cut  down  the  shrub- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       241 

bery  that  borders  your  field  is  a 
very  good  one.  By  doing  so  you 
are  aiding  to  increase  the  very 
pests  you  long  to  be  rid  of.  Your 
trim  fields  make  open  places  in 
which  the  larvae  of  insects  delight 
to  breed.  They  actually  prefer  the 
under  side  of  a  fence  rail  to  deposit 
their  eggs  or  to  spin  their  cocoons; 
and  with  the  loss  of  shrubbery  the 
hot  sun  soon  reaches  them  and 
helps  them  to  become  bugs.  Again, 
the  hedgerows  about  your  fields 
are  the  natural  homes  for  innumer- 
able birds  that  delight  to  devour 
insects.  You  certainly  are  making 
a  great  mistake,  Mr.  Spear." 

"Well,  I'll  be  gol-dumbed!"  re- 
marked that  individual,  throwing 
down  his  axe.  "  It's  live  and  larn ! 
Here  I've  been  a-breakin'  my  back 
these  last  three  years  —  a-cuttin' 


242       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

down  every  bush  that  dared  to 
grow  round  my  fields;  an'  bugs  a- 
gettin'  more  plentiful  all  the  time. 
Weevil  in  the  wheat,  cut-worms, 
Hessian  fly,  grasshoppers,  locusts 
and  I  don't  know  what!  An'  now, 
'long  comes  a  woman  —  what  I 
thought  didn't  know  nothin'  above 
posies,  and  tells  me  this.  I  dew 
declare !  I  never  was  more  s'prised 
in  my  life.  Thanky." 

'  You  are  very  welcome  to  the 
information,  Mr.  Spear.  I  only 
happened  to  think  of  it  when  I  saw 
you  working  so  hard.  I  have  a 
little  matter  of  business  with  you. 
That  field  next  to  my  garden  — - 
could  you  be  induced  to  part  with 
it?" 

Mr.  Spear's  long,  angular  face 
brightened.  "  Wus  you  thinkin'  o' 
buyin'  it?  It's  a  five-acre  lot  and 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       243 

putty  good  sile;  I  dunno,  but  I 
might  be  injuced  to  part  with  it." 

"  How  much  would  you  want  for 
it?"  I  asked. 

"Wall  now,  Mrs.  Elliot,  how 
much  would  you  be  willin'  to  give 
fur  it?  Yew  jest  set  a  price." 

I  thought  of  Aunt  Matilda's 
riches  and  calculated  as  to  how 
much  I  dared  offer.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  have  the  field.  In  truth 
it  was  my  duty  to  buy  it,  if  only 
to  put  my  aunt's  mind  at  ease.  "  I 
should  think,"  I  ventured  timidly, 
"  it  is  worth  at  least  a  thousand 
dollars." 

Mr.  Spear's  face  fairly  glowed, 
but  he  was  cautious. 

"Would  you  be  willin'  to  give 
that  for  it,  Mrs.  Elliot?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said  slowly,  "  I  think  I 
would." 


244      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Wall  then,  that's  the  least  I'll 
take  fur  it.  The  field's  yourn. 
Gosh!  I  bet  it'll  look  mighty  putty 
next  year,  all  set  out  to  posies." 

A  week  later  Mr.  Spear  and  I  had 
arranged  our  business  to  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  each.  He  was  the 
possessor  of  a  thousand-dollar 
check  —  obligingly  sent  by  Aunt 
Matilda.  Poor  woman,  she  con- 
sidered that  I  had  done  well:  for  it 
seemed  to  her  a  small  sum  to  pay 
for  such  a  large  patch  of  land, 
judging  from  the  way  lots  sold  in 
her  native  city.  I  was  the  proud 
possessor  of  a  deed  that  conveyed 
this  particular  patch  of  land  to  me 
and  my  heirs  and  assigns  for  ever 
and  a  day. 

It  was  with  no  small  pride  that 
I  coaxed  Max  to  the  foot  of  the 
garden  one  evening,  and  pointing 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       245 


to  the  field,  bade  him  behold  our 
land. 

"  How  does  it  come  to  be  ours?  " 
he  inquired. 

"Easily  enough,"  I  replied;  "I 
purchased  it  from  Mr.  Spear." 

"Where  did  you  get  the 
money?  " 

"  I  have  a  rich  aunt,"  I  remarked. 
"  When  she  heard  there  was  a  bull 
in  yonder  lane,  she  quite  forced  me 
to  buy  the  field.  Just  think,  Max, 
your  own  Judith  might  have  been 
gored  by  a  bull.  Now  I  shall  put 
up  a  fence  between  us  and  that 
lane." 

"  Umph  !  "       ejaculated       Max. 

How  much  did  you  pay  for  the 
lot?" 

"  A  thousand  dollars." 

"How  large  is  it?" 

"  Five  acres." 


246       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

11  Oh,"  groaned  Max;  "  and  farm 
land  selling  for  seventy-five  dollars 
an  acre !  Judith,  you  need  a  guard- 
ian. Why  did  you  not  consult  me 
as  to  this  transaction,  before  con- 
cluding it?  " 

"  Because,"  I  replied,  "  you  would 
have  asked  why  I  wanted  the  field, 
and  just  what  I  wanted  to  do  with 
it.  You  would  have  said  that  the 
garden  was  large  enough  for  me, 
and  that  it  was  very  foolish  to 
buy  more  land.  Husbands  are  so 
frank  that  I  determined  for  once 
to  follow  my  own  sweet  will.  I 
know  I  shall  never  repent  buying 
this  field." 

Max  sighed.  I  wish  he  would 
not  sigh  when  I  am  pleased.  The 
best  way,  however,  is  not  to  notice 
that  he  is  sighing;  so  I  changed  the 
conversation  to  a  topic  I  knew 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       247 


would  please  him.  It  is  dinner- 
time," I  said ;  "  and  what  do  you 
think?  Rhoda  has  frozen  us  a  fine 
Nesselrode  pudding." 


THE  HAUNTED 
ROSE  GARDEN 


XVI 


OME  one  has  said : 
"If  the  sun  be 
not  God,  it  is 


can  one  think  otherwise,  when  he 
beholds  that  great  orb  rising  in  all 
its  majesty  from  behind  the  purple 
hills:  gladdening  with  a  morning 
kiss  the  smiling  earth;  dimpling 
into  gold  the  shadowy  lake.  How 
I  love  God's  first  cousin! 

My  husband  is  slumbering,  but 
I  am  abroad ;  wide  awake,  and  filled 
with  a  buoyancy  that  is  the  birth- 

248 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       249 

right  of  dawn.  The  dew  is  every- 
where; tipping  the  little  perky 
grass  blades,  hanging  in  shining 
globes  on  the  leaves  of  the  tall 
elderberry  bush  which  brushes  me 
as  I  pass.  What  am  I  seeking? 
Wild  roses,  to  be  sure.  Have  I  not 
enough  in  my  own  garden?  No, 
not  enough;  for  what  cultivated 
rose  dares  to  equal  in  fragrance  the 
wild,  exquisite  perfume  of  sweet- 
briar?  Already  the  goldfinch  is 
tilting  on  a  tall  bull-thistle;  singing 
as  if  he  could  not  praise  loud 
enough.  It  is  not  such  a  bad  thing 
to  be  a  goldfinch;  he  is  a  bird  that 
never  gets  melancholy.  This  is  a 
good  world  for  him.  He  gets  up 
early  in  the  morning,  hies  himself 
to  a  convenient  thistle,  and  warbles 
a  hearty  prayer;  then  he  hunts  a 
few  fat  worms  and  sings  some 


250       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


more.  I  imagine  that  in  the  first 
song  he  tells  God  how  thankful  he 
is  that  another  day  has  dawned,  and 
how  good  and  trustful  he  intends 
to  be.  After  he  has  had  his  break- 
fast, he  thanks  God  for  those  nice 
fat  worms ;  and  all  through  the  day 
in  little  cheerful  warbles,  keeps  up 
the  praise.  A  bit  of  black  and 
gold ;  beautiful  as  a  flower,  cheerful 
as  a  sunbeam. 

'  What  is  to  hinder  me  from 
being  cheerful?"  I  exclaimed  as  I 
climbed  a  rail  fence  and  slid  down 
into  a  meadow.  "  Nothing  in  this 
world.  I  don't  consider  life  a 
failure;  "  then  I  stooped  and  washed 
my  face  in  the  dew.  It  makes  one's 
complexion  so  pretty  to  bathe  in 
the  dew;  and  since  Aunt  Matilda 
has  intimated  that  I  shall  go  to  seed 
early,  why,  I  take  this  harmless 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       251 


precaution  to  prevent  it.  I  hon- 
estly think  that  if  my  aunt  would 
get  up  mornings  and  bathe  her  face 
in  the  dew  she  would  look  better. 
What  fun  can  there  be  in  lying 
abed,  computing  your  miseries, 
dwelling  upon  an  ache  here  and  an 
ache  there,  when  you  might  be  so 
happy  washing  your  face  in  dew 
and  tramping  through  the  fields? 

I  like  the  meadow.  The  bobo- 
links are  singing  all  through  it  and 
larks  are  rising  on  swift,  lithe 
wings.  I  sample  again  its  dew  on 
my  face;  then  I  turn  and  look 
boldly  at  God's  first  cousin.  His 
raiment  has  not  yet  grown  too 
bright  for  mortal's  eyes.  "  Be- 
hold," I  said,  "  one  woman  who 
will  enjoy  herself." 

At  length  I  came  across  the 
sweetbriar,  pink  with  bloom,  glis- 


3£ 


252       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

tening  with  dew;  so  fragrant  that 
it  seemed  as  if  an  invisible  fairy 
were  swinging  a  censer  near  me.  I 
cut  the  blooms  tenderly,  leaving 
enough  on  the  bush  for  beauty's 
sake;  then  I  put  them  carefully  in 
my  round  basket  and  started  for 
home. 

"Now,"  thought  I,  "why  not 
choose  a  new  path?"  I  climbed 
another  fence  and  entered  a  wood 
all  twinkling  with  sunshine.  The 
ferns  looked  like  golden  arrows; 
red  squirrels  and  chipmunks  ran 
before  me;  wood  birds  twittered 
and  sang.  I  hated  to  leave  this 
wood;  there  was  so  much  in  it  I 
wanted  to  see.  It  ended  too  soon. 
Midway  in  a  field,  I  came  to  a 
brook  —  a  laughing,  jumping  sort 
of  a  stream  fully  six  feet  wide  and 
no  bridge  to  cross  it. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       253 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do, 
wade  it.  I  divested  myself  of  shoes 
and  stockings;  rolled  the  stockings 
into  two  hard  little  balls  and  thrust 
one  inside  each  shoe.  I  tied  the 
shoes  together  and,  standing  back, 
threw  them  with  might  and  main 
across  the  brook.  They  landed  far 
on  the  other  side;  then  with  my 
basket  on  one  arm,  I  lifted  my 
skirts  and  boldly  waded  in.  I 
crossed  the  brook  in  safety;  then 
recrossed  it,  just  for  the  pleasure  of 
feeling  the  swift  water  on  my  feet. 
Crossed  it  again  and  recrossed  it, 
laughing  when  I  slipped  on  the 
smooth  stones.  It  was  such  glori- 
ous fun  that  I  kept  it  up  until  I 
began  to  fear  God's  first  cousin 
would  wilt  my  roses. 

I  reached  home  then,  before  Max 
was  down,  in  time  to  decorate  our 


254       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

breakfast  table  with  my  roses.  I 
scattered  them  over  the  snowy 
cloth.  I  filled  a  green  glass  vase 
with  them  and  they  hung  over  its 
sloping  brim  in  a  graceful  abandon. 

Max  smiled  when  he  beheld  them. 
"Trophies,  early  wanderer?"  he 
inquired.  Mr.  Pegleg  raised  a 
flower  and  smelled  it;  then  he 
gazed  at  it  lovingly.  It  always 
pleases  me  to  see  his  appreciation 
of  "  God's  kindly  expressions,"  as 
he  calls  the  roses.  I  know  it  is  just 
this  appreciation  that  has  made  his 
life  so  happy.  How  one  ought  to 
cultivate  the  art  of  loving  things, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  pure  enjoy- 
ment. 

Max  is  fond  of  Mr.  Pegleg.  He 
waits  upon  him  more  tenderly  than 
I  do.  To-day  he  said :  "  It  is  going 
to  be  very  warm,  Judith.  Be  sure 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       255 

to  keep  Mr.  Pegleg  in  the  shade." 
Have  I  not  a  thoughtful  husband? 
I  shall  never  forget  that  June 
day.  Oh,  how  fair  it  was!  Mr. 
Pegleg  and  I  wandered  through  the 
gardens  and  blessed  the  flowers. 
The  roses  were  wonderful,  from  the 
daintiest  opening  buds  to  full 
blooms  of  loosely  clustered  petals. 
The  blue  larkspur  gleamed  as  if 
enamelled  and  reminded  me  of  the 
steel  armour  of  the  dragon-fly. 
The  hollyhocks  were  just  in  bud; 
and  a  certain  red  poppy  bed  was 
gorgeous.  These  were  early 
blooms,  self-sown  from  last  year's 
harvest.  Each  fluted  scarlet  petal 
seemed  to  flush  the  redder  as  the 
sunbeams  kissed  it;  and  there  was 
a  gayety  over  all  that  made  one 
ashamed  to  be  sad.  The  poppy 
seeds  that  I  had  sown  were  now 


256       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

six  inches  above  the  ground,  clothed 
in  gray-green,  so  cool  to  look  upon. 
In  a  month,  there  would  be  another 
gorgeous  poppy  bed  beside  the 
summer-house.  My  guest  and  I 
continued  our  walk  to  the  end  of 
the  lawn,  where  stood  a  snowball 
tree,  that  I  have  forgotten  to  men- 
tion. This  tree  had  vexed  me;  for 
in  early  spring  I  beheld  it  the  vic- 
tim to  a  host  of  horrid  lavender- 
tinted  bugs.  They  swarmed  its 
branches  and  curled  and  withered 
its  freshly  starting  leaves.  Pat  had 
sworn  at  the  parasites  in  Irish  (out 
of  respect  to  me) ;  then  he  utterly 
douched  the  tree  in  an  emulsion  of 
whale-oil  soap  and  water.  It  was 
rather  late  in  blooming;  but  rid  of 
unwelcome  guests,  it  struggled  to 
renew  itself;  and  now  its  white 
globes  gleamed  amid  the  dark- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       257 

green  leaves  like  soft  bunches  of 
snow.  I  picked  a  branch  which  bore 
six  balls  and  placed  it  in  my  basket, 
a  bit  of  coolness  amid  more  richly 
tinted  flowers. 

I  felt  idle  that  morning,  so  idle 
that  I  whiled  away  the  time  talk- 
ing to  my  dear  old  friend.  I  con- 
fided to  him  my  plans  concerning 
the  field  I  had  purchased.  To  be 
truthful,  I  must  confess  that  the 
buying  of  that  field  troubled  me.  I 
knew  I  had  made  a  bad  bargain; 
and  it  was  not  until  a  week  or  so 
later  that  I  grew  easy  about  it. 
This  was  one  fine  Sunday,  when  I 
met  the  Spear  family  driving  to 
church  in  a  nice  new  carriage;  Mrs. 
Spear  arrayed  in  a  shiny  black  silk 
with  a  bonnet  on  her  head  that 
fairly  cried  out,  "  I  am  new!  "  She 
and  her  husband  bowed  to  me  in 


258       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

the  most  agreeable  manner.  I  had 
heard  that  the  thousand-dollar 
check  was  a  God-send  to  them. 
After  all,  what  harm  if  I  did  pay 
a  large  price  for  a  small  piece  of 
land?  The  field  would  not  be  less 
beautiful  nor  would  my  Aunt  Ma- 
tilda miss  the  money.  She  often 
gave  more  than  that  to  the  heathen, 
with  whom  she  is  not  acquainted. 
This  time  she  and  I  had  brought 
real  happiness  into  a  dull  little 
country  home:  brightened  up  the 
life  of  a  poor  farmer  and  his  over- 
worked wife;  for  surely  it  was  my 
idea,  if  Aunt  Matilda's  money.  I 
felt  myself  to  be  a  very  virtuous 
sinner  as  I  climbed  the  fence  and 
cut  across  lots  to  the  little  church 
where  Mr.  Simmons  preaches. 

One  is  always  obliged  to  listen  to 
Mr.  Simmons's  sermons.    There  is 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      259 


no  dropping  off  into  a  pleasant 
doze,  and  being  awakened  by  a 
bumble-bee  buzzing  through  the 
open  window  —  just  to  taste  the 
rose  at  your  corsage.  It  has  always 
been  a  fault  of  mine  to  sleep  in 
church;  but  never  under  Mr.  Sim- 
mons. 

To-day,  sitting  in  the  shade  of 
the  elm,  I  told  Mr.  Pegleg  about 
a  certain  sermon. 

"  Mr.  Simmons  thinks,"  I  said, 
"  that  every  one's  birthright  is  hap- 
piness ;  but  do  you  know,  Mr.  Peg- 
leg,  I  was  brought  up  to  the  belief 
that  this  world  is  a  vale  of  tears.  I 
was  told  not  to  expect  happiness, 
but  to  look  forward  to  sorrow.  I 
have  never  felt  pleased  with  the 
looking  forward.  I  have  such  a 
capacity  for  enjoyment  that  I  some- 
times fear  I  am  a  creature  without 


260      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


a  soul  —  a  reincarnation  of  some 
wild,  woodsy  thing.  If  it  should  be 
so,  and  I  must  return  to  the  earth 
innumerable  times,  why,  I  hope 
each  time,  for  the  sake  of  my  own 
enjoyment,  I  shall  grow  a  little 
wilder,  a  little  more  woodsy;  for 
where  can  one  find  such  peace  and 
joy  as  in  God's  great  out-of- 
doors? 

"  I  suppose,"  I  continued,  mu- 
singly, "  a  soul  is  a  very  valuable 
possession;  yet  one  must  admit,  it 
is  a  very  troublesome  one.  It  is 
that  part  of  you  that  is  always  try- 
ing to  escape.  It  runs  round  and 
round  the  little  prison  of  your  body 
and  beats  itself  against  the  iron 
bars  of  circumstance.  Then  to 
think  of  the  people  who  possess 
oversouls;  those  sensitive,  weep- 
ing beings  who  go  through  life  per- 


C^ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       261 

fectly  miserable  from  beginning  to 
end.  They  cannot  help  it,  I  dare 
say;  yet,  I  have  always  felt  thank- 
ful that  my  soul  is  not  too  vigorous 
for  my  body." 

Mr.  Pegleg  laughed.  "  You  have 
queer  notions,  daughter,"  he  said; 
"  you  may  be  thankful  that  you 
have  a  good  healthy  out-of-door 
soul.  It  is  the  love  for  the  real  in 
life  that  makes  one  happy.  Nearly 
all  troubles  are  man-made.  Our 
thoughts  are  great  builders;  they 
rear  for  us  a  palace  or  a  hovel.  If 
we  will  dwell  upon  the  dark  things 
of  life  we  shall  behold  naught  but 
shadows,  though  the  sun  be  shining 
just  beyond.  I  have  come  a  long 
way,  daughter,  but  there  has  al- 
ways been  spring-time  in  my  life; 
flowers  have  strewn  my  pathway. 
It  was  because  I  would  have  it  so. 


262       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Now,  I  think  I  am  nearly  to  the 
end  of  this  earth-life.  All  day  long 
I  have  seen  about  me  a  fair  young 
spirit  —  one  whom  I  dearly  love.  I 
shall  not  mind  death  if  she  takes 
me  by  the  hand  and  leads  me 
home." 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  her!"  I 
pleaded. 

"  Surely,  daughter.  She  was  my 
betrothed.  It  seems  only  yester- 
day that  I  was  young  and  stalwart, 
and  we  stood  side  by  side  in  a 
quaint  old  moonlit  garden.  We 
were  reading  the  time  on  a  moon- 
dial,  Janie  and  I.  The  soft,  evasive 
light  made  shifting  shadows  on  her 
prim  white  gown  and  flooded  her 
fair  young  face.  She  wore  on  her 
head  a  wreath  of  red  roses  that  I 
had  fashioned  for  her.  Janie  was 
over-fond  of  blooms.  '  Sweet- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      263 

heart/  I  said  softly,  '  I  love  you. 
Will  you  be  my  wife?  See,  I  will 
wait  until  the  shadow  has  crept  to 
yonder  space  on  the  dial,  for  your 
answer.' 

"  I  turned  and  looked  down  the 
dim  garden  —  to  give  her  time; 
still,  from  a  corner  of  my  eye  I 
watched  the  moon-dial.  I  saw 
Janie  reach  out  for  tendrils  of  a 
honeysuckle  and  strip  them  of  their 
leaves;  then  she  bent  above  the 
pedestal.  Finally,  when  I  knew  the 
shadow  had  surely  crept  across  the 
allotted  space,  I  turned.  Janie  was 
gone;  but  plainly  in  the  moonlight 
I  saw  the  tendrils  laid  cunningly 
across  the  dial,  and  they  spelled 
one  sweet  word,  '  Yes.'  Shy  Janie ! 
I  sought  the  garden  through  and 
through  before  I  found  her  and 
kissed  her. 


264      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Her  father  was  wealthy  for 
those  days ;  while  I  was  but  a  poor 
boy  with  my  mother  and  two  little 
sisters  to  support.  We  could  not 
think  of  marriage  until  I  had 
carved  my  way  in  life.  But  true 
love  makes  a  stout  heart  in  a  man, 
and  I  felt  sure  of  overcoming  all 
difficulties.  An  opening  chanced 
for  me  in  a  distant  city.  I  accepted 
it,  kissed  my  little  sweetheart  good- 
bye, bidding  her  have  good  cheer 
and  to  wait  for  me.  Late  that  win- 
ter I  received  a  letter  from  her 
father.  He  wrote :  '  Janie  is  ill. 
She  wishes  to  see  you.  Come  at 
once/ 

"  I  got  leave  of  absence  and  went./- 
I  found  my  little  sweetheart  a  vi 
tim  to  quick  consumption.     For  a 
week  I  sat  every  day  beside  her 
bed,  and  she  told  me  the  thoughts 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       265 

of  her  heart.  She  said:  '  I  shall  not 
go  very  far  away  —  I  feel  it.  I  shall 
always  be  able  to  see  you  and  to 
love  you.  I  want  you  to  do  your 
best  in  life.  I  want  you  to  help 
every  one  you  can;  and  so  to  live 
that  when  we  meet  there  shall  be 
nothing  but  happiness  between  us 
forever  more.' 

"  I  have  tried  to  keep  my  promise 
to  her,"  said  Mr.  Pegleg,  softly. 
"  At  first  it  was  hard  not  to  grow 
selfish  and  unkind;  the  world 
seemed  so  lonely  without  Janie.  I 
did  not  feel  interested  in  people; 
still,  for  the  sake  of  my  little  sweet- 
heart, I  strove  to  lift  a  burden  here 
and  there;  to  speak  a  gentle  word 
and  to  give  a  little  measure  of  love. 
I  was  repaid  at  last,  when  it  dawned 
upon  me  that  this  was  the  road  to 
happiness  —  the  path  to  peace. 


266       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


To-day,  I  have  seen  my  young  love 
among  your  roses,  yonder;  smell- 
ing the  blooms  in  her  graceful  way, 
lifting  the  prim  skirt  to  her  dainty 
white  gown,  and  wearing  on  her 
head  my  wreath  of  red  roses." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  that  sea 
of  bloom,  the  yellow,  the  crimson, 
the  pink,  the  white;  but  my  earth- 
dulled  eyes  could  not  behold  her; 
yet  I  thought,  "  I  shall  always  think 
of  her  among  my  roses,  even  as  he 
seemed  to  see  her." 

Presently,  Mr.  Pegleg  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  roll  of  paper.  "  Daugh- 
ter," he  said,  smiling,  "  it  has  al- 
ways been  a  whim  of  mine  to 
preach  my  own  funeral  sermon. 
There  are  things  I  want  so  much 
to  say.  I  have  written  them  down 
—  here,  among  your  flowers.  Will 
you  not  keep  this  paper,  and  if  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       267 

die  before  you  do,  see  that  it  is  read 
at  my  funeral?  Another  favour  I 
would  ask:  I  want  you  to  repeat 
upon  that  occasion  my  favourite 
poem,  the  one  by  Edward  Sill." 

"  I  promise,"  I  said,  —  the  tears 
very  near  my  eyes ;  "  but  oh,  Mr. 
Pegleg,  how  can  you  talk  of  death 
in  June,  when  the  earth  is  so  fair? 
I  could  not,  I  would  not  die  in 
June!" 

"  I  shall  only  cross  the  threshold 
into  a  fairer  world  than  this,  daugh- 
ter." 

He  fell  asleep,  presently,  and  I 
ran  into  the  house  for  a  pillow  to 
place  behind  his  head.  How  serene 
his  face  looked,  surrounded  by  its 
wealth  of  snowy  hair !  It  was  such 
a  good,  true  face,  that  it  rested  one 
to  gaze  at  it.  I  imagined,  no  matter 
how  sad  or  discouraged  one  might 


268       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


feel,    Mr.    Pegleg    could    comfort 
him. 

As  for  me,  I  went  for  a  walk 
around  my  field,  and  forgot  to  be 
sad. 


MR.   PEGLEG'S 

SWEETHEART 

LEADS   HIM 

HOME 


XVII 


SHALL  always 
think  my  roses 
bloomed  the 
fairer  for  Mr. 
Pegleg's  p  r  e  s  - 
ence,  or  was  it  the  spirit  of  his  little 
sweetheart  stealing  among  them, 
that  induced  them  to  open  so 
wonderfully  perfect?  There  was 
scarcely  a  blighted  bud;  and  the 
dusky  green  foliage  was  delight- 
fully healthy  and  free  from  bugs. 
Even  our  great  and  good  friend,  the 
sun,  seemed  to  veil  himself  at  noon- 
time behind  a  gauzy  cloud,  lest  he 


270       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


might  smile  upon  them  too  ar- 
dently. 

Knowing  that  this  feast  of  roses 
would  not  always  be  spread  for  our 
delectation,  we  made  the  best  of 
the  time.  I  had  the  table  brought 
out  warm  evenings,  and  we  dined 
in  this  garden  of  glory.  The  white 
cloth  was  strewn  with  roses,  and 
a  great  bowl  filled  with  them  set 
in  our  midst.  Araminta  Sprangle- 
berry  stood  behind  our  chairs  and 
waved  a  large  fan  of  peacock  feath- 
ers to  keep  off  the  flies;  while 
Rhoda  served  us  with  excellent  vi- 
ands. I  considered  that  this  was 
part  of  an  ideal  existence  that  well 
pleased  me. 

For  the  first  time,  Max  admitted 
that  a  garden  was  truly  a  paradise, 
or  else  the  first  approach  to  high 
heaven.  "  If  it  could  always  be 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       271 

June,"  he  said,  "  and  the  roses  in 
bloom,  as  they  are  now,  what  more 
could  one  ask?  " 

Mr.  Pegleg  smiled;  but  I  stoutly 
declared  that  a  garden  is  always  a 
paradise.  Even  in  winter,  it  is  a 
paradise  asleep. 

Once  again,  Mr.  Pegleg  told  me 
that  he  had  seen  his  little  sweet- 
heart among  my  roses.  It  was  a 
still,  calm  afternoon,  and  we  were 
sitting  on  a  bench  beneath  the 
morning-glories,  our  favourite  seat. 
When  he  ceased  speaking,  I  noticed 
that  his  face  looked  wan  and  he 
seemed  weary. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  be  alone 
a  little  while?"  I  asked. 

He  looked  at  me  gratefully. 
"  Daughter,"  he  said,  "  how  you 
comprehend  me!  I  would  like  to 
rest  a  while  —  to  be  very  quiet." 


272       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


I  put  a  pillow  behind  his  back  and 
pulled  gently  at  the  morning-glory 
vines  that  they  might  better  shade 
him;  then  I  stole  away,  looking 
back  once,  to  wonder  at  the  rapt 
look  on  his  face  and  the  light  in  his 
eyes  that  shone  not  for  me. 

I  took  my  boat  and  rowed  to  the 
lake.  There,  in  the  shadow  of  a  tall 
buttonwood  tree,  I  fell  to  thinking 
of  Mr.  Pegleg's  early  love.  Could 
it  be  true  that  one  really  never  died 
—  that  her  spirit  wandered  among 
my  roses?  How  I  wished  I  knew  a 
little  more  about  it  all,  this  strange, 
mysterious  going  away.  Mr.  Peg- 
leg  believed  and  was  blessed;  but 
I  —  I  was  not  so  sure.  It  seemed 
to  me,  I  had  better  cling  to  this 
terrestrial  globe.  Here  I  was  well 
acquainted  with  an  earthly  para- 
dise of  my  own;  while  I  had  not 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       273 

even  a  bowing  acquaintance  with 
that  mystical  beyond.  In  a  well- 
timed  prayer,  I  asked  the  Lord  that 
he  would  stretch  out  my  years  as 
long  as  possible;  "for,"  I  argued, 
"  I  am  truly  fond  of  the  earth.  I 
love  everything  that  goes  to  make 
peace  in  the  heart;  the  flowers,  the 
trees,  the  vegetables,  the  birds,  the 
sky,  and  the  stirring  waters;  the 
good  brown  soil  and  all  the  ani- 
mals;—  man  included,"  I  added  as 
an  afterthought.  "  Oh,  yes,  I  love 
my  fellow-man;  but  I  am  not  quite 
so  much  interested  in  him  as  I  am 
in  nature." 

I  often  think  it  may  be  wrong, 
this  fondness  for  living,  but  how 
can  I  help  it?  I  feel  so  well  and 
hearty,  so  green  and  bushy-like,  so 
in  love  with  every  smile  of  Nature, 
that  —  well  —  I  wish  I  might  lin- 


274       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


ger  on  this  earth  for  hundreds  of 
years. 

The  afternoon  waned  as  I  sat  lost 
in  thought.  The  lake  wimpled  with 
a  sudden  little  breeze  and  in  the 
wood  the  cheerful  birds  began  to 
sing.  There  were  concerts  all  about 
me,  glad  paeans  to  life.  I  knew  it 
was  time  to  go  home.  Surely,  Mr. 
Pegleg's  reverie  would  be  ended  by 
now,  and  we  could  resume  our  con- 
versation on  plants,  bulbs,  and  their 
promised  wealth  of  blooms. 

When  I  reached  our  boat  landing 
I  found  Pat  awaiting  me.  He  stood 
in  the  soft  light  with  bowed  head, 
cap  in  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Pat?"  I  asked  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

'The  ould  gintleman,  Missus." 

Silently  he  led  the  way,  and  there 
—  still  sitting  in  the  same  attitude, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       275 

with  that  rapt  look  upon  his  face  — 
was  my  dear  old  friend;  mine  no 
longer,  for  his  early  love,  she  whom 
he  had  seen  among  the  roses,  had 
taken  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him 
home. 

Pat  crossed  himself  reverently, 
and  his  lips  moved  in  prayer;  but 
I  —  I  could  not  weep.  There  was  a 
hard  lump  in  my  throat  which 
threatened  to  choke  me.  I  covered 
my  face  with  my  hands  and  sank 
to  the  ground. 

When  I  recovered,  Max  was 
bending  over  me.  "  My  poor  little 
girl,"  he  said,  "  what  a  dreadful 
shock!"  My  tears  began  to  flow 
and  I  wept  softly  and  long;  not 
for  Mr.  Pegleg,  but  for  my  own 
loss. 

We  sent  for  the  niece  and  her 
husband,  with  whom  Mr.  Pegleg 


276      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


had  lived.  They  came,  and  the  lit- 
tle careworn  woman  touched  the 
dead  face  reverently  and  stroked 
the  silvery  hair.  "  Uncle  was  so 
good! "  she  said. 

Then  I  told  her  his  last  wishes 
and  asked  her  if  we  might  have 
the  funeral  here. 

"  I  should  like  it,"  she  said,  "  for 
uncle  loved  the  country,  and  he  was 
very  fond  of  you,  Mrs.  Elliot." 

So  we  arranged  it.  I  suggested 
that  he  should  be  buried  in  the  little 
graveyard  on  the  hill.  Together, 
his  niece  and  I  went  and  picked  out 
a  sunny  spot,  where  we  knew  flow- 
ers would  delight  to  bloom  and 
birds  linger  to  sing.  It  would  not 
matter  to  Mr.  Pegleg,  for  tombs 
are  to  please  the  living,  not  the 
dead;  they  are  merely  spots  for 
remembrance. 


Jkb 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       277 

There  were  no  emblems  of 
mourning  at  this  little  funeral.  A 
few  friends  were  invited,  among 
them  Priscilla  Brown  and  her  fa- 
ther; others,  who  loved  Mr.  Peg- 
leg,  drove  out  from  town. 

The  casket  stood  in  the  shade  of 
the  old  elm  tree  on  the  lawn,  and 
a  simple  wreath  of  white  roses 
adorned  it.  Above,  gleamed  a  blue 
June  sky.  A  hushed  day,  as  if  even 
nature  paused  in  reverence  for  the 
occasion. 

We  gathered  in  a  little  group, 
and  Mr.  Simmons  offered  a  prayer, 
one  of  hope  and  inspiration;  then 
he  said :  "  Our  friend  in  going  forth 
left  behind  him  words  of  comfort, 
which  I  have  here.  You  shall  listen 
to  them." 

He  unfolded  the  paper  I  had 
given  him  and  read  Mr.  Pegleg's 


278       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

funeral    sermon  —  written    by    his 
own  hand. 

"DEAR  FRIENDS:  You  stand  in 
the  presence  of  that  which  you  call 
death;  I  call  it  life.  You  wonder 
and  grieve  like  bewildered  little 
children,  for  God's  ways  seem  so 
mysterious.  But  do  not  grieve  for 
me.  All  my  days  I  have  been  as  a 
prisoner  in  an  earthly  cage;  if  the 
door  be  opened  now,  and  I  escape, 
—  is  it  not  my  gain?  Still,  I  would 
not  have  you  think  that  I  found  my 
prison  barren  or  my  jailor  unkind. 
Some  beat  and  bruise  their  souls 
against  the  bars  of  this  earthly  life; 
but  I  early  yielded  and  became  sub- 
missive to  my  lot.  I  learned  to 
trust  and  to  wait.  Among  my  fel- 
low-men I  discovered  such  gentle 
souls,  such  kind  and  loving  hearts 
that  I  could  not  be  unhappy.  In 


rr> 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       279 

loving  them  I  forgot  the  evils  of  life 
and  kept  the  good. 

"  Now  I  have  fared  forth,  and  you 
call  it  death.  I  call  it  life;  the  only 
real  life  of  man.  Perhaps,  to-day, 
I  may  stand  in  your  midst  and  smile 
at  my  freedom;  for  what  can  limit 
the  power  of  spirit,  who  can  say, 
'  It  shall  not '  ?  If  God  had  meant 
death  to  separate  us,  then  were  the 
golden  cord  of  love  more  fragile, 
the  human  heart  less  faithful. 
Now,  who  can  snap  that  slender 
cord  or  bid  an  aching  heart  forget? 
So  I  say,  I  shall  not  have  gone  very 
far  away;  only  slipped  over  into  a 
border-land,  from  whence  dear  ones 
return  to  comfort  us,  whispering 
words  of  good  cheer,  binding  up 
our  broken  hearts,  pointing  to  a 
star  of  hope  which  beams  above 
every  grave. 


280       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  But  it  is  not  of  a  life  beyond 
that  I  wish  most  to  speak  to-day. 
It  is  of  your  earthly  life,  dear 
friends,  the  little  round  of  toil  and 
duty  that  still  absorbs  you.  If  I 
might  speak  from  the  experience  of 
many  years,  I  should  tell  you  that 
you  are  not  happy  enough;  that 
you  are  not  trustful  enough.  You 
will  not  believe  in  the  evidence  God 
has  set  all  about  you;  of  his  undy- 
ing regard  for  your  welfare.  You 
weep  when  you  might  be  glad  :  you 
bear  burdens  that  were  never  meant 
for  you. 

"  I  have  been  only  a  simple  old 
man  of  few  words,  but  to-day,  I  bid 
you  hope.  I  bid  you  look  upward, 
not  downward.  Do  not  think  of 
death  as  something  dark  and 
gloomy;  but  as  of  something  to 
be  lived  for,  —  the  goal  of  peace 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      281 


and  joy.  Travel  on  with  a  light 
heart,  loving  and  being  loved;  for 
what  is  there  to  fear?  Trust,  and 
some  gentle  spirit  will  take  you  by 
the  hand  and  guide  you.  You  will 
be  taught  to  look  beyond  evil  to 
good;  to  meet  harshness  with 
kindness;  to  be  gentle  yet  true. 
Thus  will  you  build  yourself  a  char- 
acter, which  is  like  storing  sunshine 
for  all  eternity.  Believe  me,  death 
does  nothing  but  cast  aside  the  lit- 
tle heap  of  dust  which,  moulded 
into  a  shape,  concealed  your  spirit. 
"  I  bless  you,  I  still  love  you;  my 
peace  I  give  unto  you." 

Mr.  Simmons  folded  the  paper, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  —  silent. 
There  in  the  sweet  clear  air,  with 
birds  singing  in  the  distance  and 
the  echo  of  those  hopeful  words  still 


282       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

ringing  in  our  ears,  how  could  we 
feel  sad? 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  minister. 

Then  I  stepped  forward:  I  can- 
not tell  you  what  made  me  so 
brave;  but  I  remembered  my  old 
friend's  wish  —  that  I  should  re- 
peat his  favourite  poem.  My  voice 
trembled  a  little  as  I  began: 

"  What  if  some  morning  when  the  stars  were 

paling, 
And  the  dawn  whitened,   and  the  east  was 

clear, 
Strange  peace  and  rest  fell  on  me  from  the 

presence 
Of  a  benignant  spirit  standing  near; 

"  And  I  should  tell  him  as  he  stood  beside 

me, 
'  This  is  our  earth  —  most  friendly   earth, 

and  fair; 
Daily  its  sea  and  shore  through  sun  and 

shadow 
Faithful  it  turns,  robed  in  azure  air: 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      283 


'  There  is  blest  living  here,  loving  and  serv- 

ing, 
And  quest  of  truth,  and  serene  friendships 

dear; 
But    stay    not,   spirit,  earth   has   one   des- 

troyer — 
His  name  is  Death  :  flee,  lest  he  find  thee  here  !  ' 


"  And  what  if  then,  while  the  still  morn- 
ing brightened, 

And  freshened  in  the  elm  the  summer's 
breath, 

Should  gravely  smile  on  me  the  gentle  angel, 

And  take  my  hand  and  say,  '  My  name  is 
Death.' " 


Silently  we  bore  him  away,  and 
laid  him  in  the  little  graveyard. 
The  only  words  spoken  above  that 
disturbed  mound  of  earth  were 
these  glad,  jubilant  words: 


"O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting;  O  Grave, 
where  is  thy  victory!  " 


7   S£TO   G//TS 

TO    THE          XVIII 
MISSES   LARK 


17 ,  how  I  shall  miss 
my  dear  old 
friend !  but  the 
garden  seems  the 
richer  for  having 

known  him.     The  flowers  that  he 
loved  bloom  brightly,  as  if  to  com- 
fort me;    and  all  the  roses  remind 
me  of  his  little  sweetheart.    I  often 
,   wonder  if  these   two  are  walking 
J  hand  in  hand  in   a  fairer  garden 
than  mine.     Are  they  picking  the 
flowers,  do  they  ever  speak  of  me? 
Perhaps,     Mr.     Pegleg    will     say: 
'  There  is  a  little  woman  on  the 

284 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       285 

earth  who  loves  a  garden  in  such 
a  hearty  fashion!  How  I  wish  she 
might  behold  this  perfect  spot." 
Perhaps  his  little  sweetheart  will 
answer,  "  Nay,  she  would  grow 
mad  with  joy.  Her  soul  has  not 
grown  up  to  our  garden ;  she  must 
wait  a  while."  And  I  —  why,  I  am 
quite  content  to  wait. 

So  I  think,  as  I  pick  a  great 
basket  of  roses  —  my  own  roses  — 
this  year,  growing  on  my  own 
bushes;  there  is  such  a  satisfaction 
in  feeling  that  I  own  the  bush. 
Last  year  they  were  my  roses  grow- 
ing on  Tom  Norton's  bushes.  I 
shall  always  think  that  Mr.  Norton 
made  a  sacrifice  in  selling  this  place. 
He  gave  up  a  paradise  to  a  modern 
Eve.  But  the  modern  Eve  appre- 
ciates her  paradise. 

My  basket  was  just  running  over, 


286       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

when  I  heard  a  soft  step  behind  me. 
I  turned,  to  behold  Priscilla  Brown. 

"  The  scarlet  creeper  has  nearly 
overrun  the  summer-house,"  I  said 
cheerily.  "  Do  come  and  look  at 
it!" 

"Are  the  Madonna  lilies  in 
bud?"  she  asked,  looking  very  in- 
nocent. 

"  Yes,  and  my  gladiolus  bulbs  a 
foot  high;  the  old-fashioned  gar- 
den is  a  sight;  and  oh,  Priscilla 
Brown,  I  have  bought  me  a  field! 
Say,  dear,  can't  you  spare  me  a  few 
forget-me-nots  and  some  clumps  of 
the  iris  that  Hetty  Allen,  who  used 
to  own  your  place,  planted  along 
the  creek?  I  want  to  edge  one  side 
of  my  brook  with  them.  On  the 
other  side,  I  shall  plant  daffodils 
so  thickly,  that  they  will  shine  like 
a  ribbon  of  gold.  Come,  let  me 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       287 


show  you  my  field.  But  for  Mr. 
Spear's  bull  I  could  not  have  owned 
it.  I  often  think  a  special  Provi- 
dence rules  my  life." 

"  Father  sent  me  over,"  she  broke 
in,  "  to  ask  you  how  the  bug-exter- 
minator worked." 

"  Oh,"  I  said.  "  Well,  you  see,  I 
haven't  tried  it  yet;  but  I  know  it 
is  going  to  work  beautifully." 

"  Father  said  if  it  didn't,  he 
should  refund  the  money." 

I  felt  chilly.  That  old  man's  con- 
science is  really  abnormal.  What 
if  he  should  refund  the  money,  and 
after  all  my  trouble?  "We  have 
been  rather  busy  of  late,"  I  ex- 
plained, "  but  Pat  will  surely  try 
the  machine  to-morrow  or  the  next 
day;  then  we  will  send  you  word 
how  it  works.  Please  tell  your 
father  not  to  worry." 


288       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

I  thought  Priscilla  looked  rather 
pale. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  dear?  " 
I  asked. 

"No,"  she  said  doubtfully; 
"  nothing  much.  I  am  only  a  little 
troubled." 

"About  the  hens?" 

"Oh,  no,  the  hens  are  thriving; 
it  is  father.  You  see,  he  has  so 
nearly  completed  his  aeroplane, 
that  he  thinks  of  taking  a  trip  in 
it  next  week.  Of  course,  I  feel  sure 
that  it  is  all  right,  and  nothing 
could  happen,  but  —  " 

I  appreciated  that  "but."  Poor 
Priscilla!  "  He  will  not  sail  far?  " 
I  said.  "  And  do  urge  him  to  fly 
low." 

"  No,  only  just  around  our  big 
lot.  He  will  be  very  careful  at  first, 
then  if  it  works  well,  why,  he  will 


^sr 
^^ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       289 

take  longer  trips.  I  feel  that  he  is 
going  to  succeed,"  and  her  eyes 
brightened. 

I  kept  Priscilla  to  lunch,  and  by 
talking  judiciously  about  Donald 
Warren,  sought  to  turn  her  mind 
from  air-ships.  Rhoda  set  the  table 
on  the  porch  and  served  us  with 
cold  jellied  chicken,  broiled  chops, 
delicious  coffee,  and  strawberries 
with  cream.  Araminta  Sprangle- 
berry  pirouetted  behind  us  with  an 
asparagus  bough,  having  mislaid 
her  peacock-feather  fan. 

Did  you  ever  taste  strawberries 
that  were  picked  at  just  the  right 
hour?  Rhoda  claims  "  Dey  ain't  no 
good  when  de  sun  smuts  'em;"  so 
she  rises  early  in  the  morning  and 
picks  them  while  the  dew  is  still 
glistening  on  their  leaves.  Then 
she  puts  them  away  in  the  cool, 


290       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

dark  cellar  and  they  come  to  the 
table  fresh  and  firm;  truly,  God's 
greatest  triumph  in  berry-making. 

Priscilla  and  I  ate,  each,  a  large 
dish  of  these  strawberries,  then  we 
helped  ourselves  afresh;  for,  as  I 
wisely  commented,  "  Strawberries 
last  such  a  short  time  that  one 
ought  to  make  the  most  of  them." 

In  the  meanwhile  Priscilla  Brown 
told  me  about  her  mother. 

"  I  was  only  five  years  old,"  she 
said,  "  when  mother  died ;  but  I 
can  see  her  yet,  —  so  plainly!  Fa- 
ther used  to  take  me  to  the  theatre 
where  she  acted.  Often,  she  would 
look  so  beautiful,  when  she  came 
upon  the  stage,  that  the  people 
would  applaud  her  like  mad;  but 
she  used  only  to  notice  father  and 
me. 

"  Sometimes  I  was  allowed  in  her 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       291 

dressing-room,  back  of  the  stage. 
If  she  had  a  little  time  to  spare, 
after  being  robed,  she  would  always 
take  me  upon  her  lap  and  sing  to 
me  or  pet  me.  I  was  so  dazzled  by 
her  beauty,  that  I  used  to  wonder 
if,  after  all,  she  were  not  an  angel 
instead  of  a  real  mother. 

"  She  took  cold  one  winter  night, 
playing  on  a  draughty  stage,  and 
for  days  was  very,  very  ill.  One 
evening  they  brought  me  to  her 
bedside.  She  looked  at  me  mourn- 
fully out  of  her  great  bright  eyes; 
then  she  drew  me  to  her  and  held 
me  close.  '  Little  daughter/  she 
whispered,  'you  must  stay  and 
comfort  father;  but  oh,  it  is  hard, 
so  hard  to  leave  you ! ' 

"  Next  morning  father  told  me 
she  had  gone  away  in  the  night  to 
be  one  of  God's  angels.  I  remem- 


292       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


her  crying  and  saying  that  I  wanted 
my  mother;  and  that  God  had 
enough  angels  without  her. 

"  '  So  I  think/  replied  my  father  ; 
and  he  burst  into  tears  and  sobbed 
so  dreadfully,  that  I  was  frightened 
and  Belinda  had  to  carry  me  away." 

"  Poor  little  Priscilla,"  I  sighed  ; 
"  you  needed  your  mother." 

"Yes,"  she  said  gently;  "but 
father  has  been  so  good.  I  can 
never  leave  father." 

As  I  looked  into  that  sweet, 
steadfast  face,  my  heart  trembled 
for  Donald  Warren.  Could  he  win 
her? 

Sitting  opposite  her,  my  eyes 
took  in  her  dress,  a  quaint  old- 
fashioned  crape  of  dull  pink,  strewn 
thickly  with  blue  bachelor-buttons. 
It  was  trimmed  with  a  narrow 
fringed  braid,  and  on  any  one  else 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       293 


but  Priscilla  Brown  would  have 
looked  decidedly  antique.  It  be- 
came her,  as  everything  does. 

"  Priscilla,"  I  asked  presently, 
"  where  did  you  get  that  gown  ?  " 

"  It  was  mothers,"  she  said  sim- 
ply. "  She  used  to  wear  it  as  Lady 
Gay  Spanker  in  an  interview  with 
Sir  Peter.  I  have  never  torn  it;" 
and  Priscilla  lovingly  smoothed  out 
a  fold. 

"  How  did  your  father  happen  to 
buy  Hetty  Allen's  place?"  was  my 
next  question. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  replied  Pris- 
cilla. "  We  were  quite  poor  and 
father  felt  that  he  was  growing  old 
(you  see  he  was  twenty  years  older 
than  my  mother),  so  when  his 
uncle  left  him  a  legacy  he  decided 
to  buy  a  small  place,  to  make  a 
home  for  me,  he  said.  Belinda 


294       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

wanted  it  to  be  in  the  country, 
where  she  could  raise  hens  and  have 
a  garden;  and  father  thought  he 
should  like  the  quiet.  When  he 
heard  of  this  place  he  came  and 
bought  it.  That  was  six  years 
ago." 

We  arose,  and  Priscilla  said  she 
must  be  going;  for  Belinda  wished 
her  to  do  an  errand.  She  had  asked 
Priscilla  to  purchase  some  butter 
from  Mrs.  Sullivan. 

"  If  you  will  wait  a  few  minutes," 
I  said,  "  I  will  walk  along  with  you. 
I  was  intending  to  pay  a  visit  to 
my  little  neighbour  on  the  cross- 
road, beyond  Mrs.  Sullivan's.  I 
have  not  seen  her  in  a  long  time 
and  this  morning  I  picked  her  a 
basket  of  roses." 

I  hurried  in  for  my  straw  hat  and 
the  flowers,  which  I  had  placed  in 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       295 


the  cold  cellar.  Telling  Rhoda 
where  I  was  going,  I  set  out  with 
Priscilla. 

As  we  walked  along  I  was  feel- 
ing comfortably  cheery.  Presently 
Priscilla  Brown  said  to  me: 

"  Mrs.  Elliot,  you  are  the  happi- 
est woman  I  ever  knew.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  how  to  be  so 
happy." 

I  expressed  surprise.  "  It  is  easy 
enough,"  I  said.  "  Just  love  every- 
thing you  see,  and  never  think 
about  evil.  I  imagine  all  gardeners 
are  happy.  It  is  the  good  out-of- 
door  life  and  the  pleasure  of  watch- 
ing green  things  grow.  I  don't 
know  how  to  be  low-spirited.  I 
think,  my  dear,  I  am  a  little  like 
bottled  champagne  —  just  waiting 
for  the  cork  to  be  drawn  to  fizz  and 
bubble  over;  then  I  have  every- 


296       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


thing  I  want :  a  garden,  a  field,  and 
an  editor  for  a  husband." 

"You  would  choose  an  editor?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  should  prefer  that 
my  husband  were  a  gardener,"  I 
replied;  "but  next  to  that  honour- 
able profession,  I  choose  an  editor." 

"Why,  may  I  ask?" 

"  Because,  my  dear,  editors  like 
harmony  in  their  homes.  They 
have  such  wrangling  with  their 
kind,  that  when  they  reach  their 
own  firesides  they  are  quite  ex- 
hausted and  long  for  peace.  They 
are  not  like  some  men,  smooth- 
spoken outside,  but  with  a  surplus 
of  bitter  sarcasm  bottled  up  for 
home  use.  An  editor  says  his  hard 
things  to  a  brother  editor,  and  at 
home  is  a  sweet  and  pleasant  hus- 
band." 

We  had  come  in  sight  of  Mrs. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       297 


Sullivan's  and  I  cut  short  my  eu- 
logy of  editors  by  climbing  the 
fence  into  a  field.  I  was  deter- 
mined to  make  a  slight  detour;  be- 
cause, as  I  told  Priscilla,  if  Mrs. 
Sullivan  caught  sight  of  me  I 
should  be  obliged  to  drink  "  a  cup 
o'  tay,"  and  eat  "  a  biled  egg;  "  and 
after  those  delicious  strawberries 
—  well,  I  simply  couldn't. 


5*51 


A   GARDEN 
CONFESSION 


XIX 


FOUND  my  friend 
at  home,  sitting 
in  her  garden, 
with  a  big  basket 
of  stockings  to 
mend  on  the  bench  beside  her. 

A  smile  of  satisfaction  dawned  in 
her  eyes  when  she  saw  me. 

"  Welcome,  you  dear,  wholesome 
out-of-door  thing!"  she  cried;  and 
I  felt  as  flattered  as  if  her  salutation 
had  been  "  Come  in,  thou  Queen  of 
Sheba." 

The  roses  delighted  her.  She 
dipped  her  careworn  face  in  their 

298 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       299 


scented  petals;  then  held  the  basket 
at  arm's  length  to  admire  them. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  they  make  me," 
she  cried;  "they  are  so  gloriously 
perfect,  so  darkly,  richly  beauti- 
ful!" 

"And  so  healthy,"  I  said,  "not 
a  bug  on  them.  Pat  and  I  looked 
after  that.  Mr.  Pegleg  always 
called  roses,  '  God's  kindly  expres- 
sions;' "  and  the  tears  sprang  into 
my  eyes. 

I  dashed  them  quickly  away ;  my 
little  neighbour  needs  laughter  and 
good  cheer,  not  tears.  "  I  have 
come  to  see  your  garden,"  I  said. 

"  You  will  not  find  it  much  com- 
pared with  yours,"  she  remarked, 
"  but  oh,  how  I  love  it !  I  am  all 
a-tiptoe  with  eagerness  the  moment 
I  have  sown  a  seed  —  watching  for 
it  to  come  up.  I  fear  I  did  some- 


• 


300       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


thing  very  wrong  this  spring,  and 
all  for  the  sake  of  my  garden. 
Wait  until  I  put  these  roses  in 
water,  then  I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

She  hurried  into  the  house  and 
returned  presently  with  two  large 
green  glass  vases.  In  these  we  ar- 
ranged the  roses,  allowing  some  to 
droop  over  the  flaring  brim.  The 
effect  was  exquisite.  "  How  I  do 
love  green  glass  vases  for  flowers !  " 
I  exclaimed.  "  You  certainly  have 
perfect  taste." 

''  The  vases  were  mother's,"  she 
said;  "  she  was  fond  of  flowers." 

When  we  were  once  more  seated 
on  the  bench  I  said  to  her: 

"  Now  what  sins  have  you  com- 
mitted? Confess." 

"  I  shall  have  to,"  she  replied, 
laughingly.  "  It  was  this  way:  my 
husband  is  rather  close  and  we  have 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      301 

little  ready  money,  but,  as  I  gen- 
erally have  a  cough  every  spring,  he 
gives  me  a  dollar  to  buy  cod-liver 
oil;  then  he  watches  every  day  to 
see  that  I  take  it.  I  know  he  loves 
me. 

"  This  spring  I  deceived  him.  I 
took  my  last  year's  empty  bottle 
and  rilled  it  with  molasses;  then  I 
added  to  it  a  good  pinch  of  soda. 
When  you  shook  up  the  bottle  you 
couldn't  tell  the  mixture  from  cod- 
liver  emulsion.  I  took  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  this  three  times  a  day  and 
kept  the  dollar  to  buy  flower  seeds. 
You  see  I  did  so  want  the  seeds. 
Was  it  very  wicked?  " 

I  did  not  reply  for  a  moment,  I 
was  so  stirred  with  the  pity  of  it. 
At  last  I'  said :  "  Of  course,  it  was 
not  exactly  an  orthodox  proceed- 
ing; but  on  the  other  hand,  the  cod- 


Jt3 


<r/l 

"Vl 


302       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

liver  oil  might  have  killed  you, 
while  the  flowers  are  sure  to  prove 
pure  blessings." 

"  Sometimes,  I  feel  that  it  was 
very  wrong  in  me,"  she  remarked; 
"  but  what  would  you  do  if  you 
could  never  have  a  cent  of  money 
—  only  to  buy  medicine  with  or  a 
much-needed  dress  ?  " 

"  I  imagine,"  I  replied,  "  I  should 
be  no  better  than  you,  dear;  I  sus- 
pect I  should  be  worse;  but  God 
sees  us  and  He  is  a  very  lenient 
judge.  Do  not  worry;  but  tell  me 
did  you  sow  the  red  poppy  seeds  I 
sent  you?  " 

"  Indeed  I  did,  and  they  are  up 
fine  and  strong.  Come  and  see 
them." 

We  went  through  the  garden, 
she  and  I,  exclaiming  and  admiring. 
I  discovered  a  hoe,  and  wherever 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       303 

I  found  a  plant  that  needed  a  little 
digging  around,  why,  I  just  dug. 

"  I  wish  I  had  more  time  to 
weed,"  she  said  woefully;  "but 
what  can  one  do  with  six  children, 
and  four  of  them  boys  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know/'  I  answered 
truthfully.  "  If  the  Lord  had  seen 
fit  to  afflict  —  I  mean  bless  me  with 
such  a  large  family,  I  suppose  I 
should  bring  them  up  somehow,  — 
higgledy-piggledy.  I  haven't  a  par- 
ticle of  discipline.  I  can't  even 
make  Araminta  Sprangleberry 
mind  me.  Nothing  fears  me." 

"  I  lack  government  myself,"  she 
said,  sadly.  "  Sometimes  the  boys 
set  me  wild;  and  after  I  have 
scolded  them  all  around,  I  haven't 
the  strength  left  to  spank  them. 
You  may  say  what  you  please,  but 
scolding  requires  strength." 


304       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"Does  it?"  I  said  wonderingly; 
"  I  thought  it  came  easy.  A  friend 
of  mine  warned  me  once  never  to 
acquire  that  habit.  She  said,  it  was 
so  easy  to  scold  that  one  had  only 
to  open  her  mouth  for  the  words 
to  pop  out.  She  confessed  she  had 
been  known  to  scold  in  her  sleep. 
Perhaps,  it  is  just  as  well  that  you 
haven't  the  strength  left  to  spank: 
the  scolding  may  answer  every  pur- 
pose." 

"  But  sometimes  they  need  it," 
she  said  mournfully;  "  oh,  how  they 
need  it!" 

"  Cannot  the  father  perform  that 
duty?  "  I  inquired. 

"He?"  she  replied  scornfully. 
"No  indeed;  he  says,  that  it's 
woman's  work  —  rearing  children." 

I  put  my  arm  around  her,  she  is 
so  little  and  careworn !  "  Don't 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       305 

worry,  dear,"  I  said;  "come,  take 
a  lesson  from  your  garden.  The 
plants  don't  need  to  be  disciplined; 
they  are  God's  children.  Perhaps, 
if  you  trusted  God  in  regard  to 
your  little  humans,  and  scolded  less, 
He  would  keep  an  eye  on  them.  I 
once  knew  a  careless,  trusting 
mother  who  worried  very  little 
over  her  brood.  She  said  God's 
angels  looked  after  them;  and  it 
did  seem  as  if  those  children  never 
got  a  fall  or  stubbed  a  toe.  I  don't 
believe  worrying  or  scolding  helps 
a  bit;  but  trusting  takes  our  bur- 
dens away  and  lets  us  draw  a  free 
breath  of  pure  happiness." 

Then  I  dug  around  some  pansy 
roots.  "  This  fall,"  I  said,  "  I  shall 
send  you  some  bulbs  —  Madonna 
lilies  and  tulips.  The  tulips  are  to 
cheer  you  up  in  the  spring,  and  the 


306       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

lilies  are  to  strengthen  your  faith 
in  the  all-good  Providence  that 
loves  us  and  gives  us  the  birthright 
of  happiness." 

I  put  up  the  hoe,  kissed  her,  and 
went  home. 

Half-way  I  met  Araminta  Spran- 
gleberry.  She  looked  so  very  im- 
portant that  I  suspected  she  had 
news. 

"  Miss  Judith/'  she  called  jubi- 
lantly, "  somefm's  done  happened. 
Dat  ole  cat  o'  yourn  has  kotched 
an'  et  up  de  hull  fambly  o'  leetle 
robins  in  de  maple." 

"What!"  I  cried,  horrified. 

"  Ebery  leetle  one ! "  said  Ara- 
minta. 

I  knew  it  was  true;  for  before 
I  reached  home  I  heard  the  sorrow- 
ful cries  of  the  poor  parents,  and  it 
went  to  my  heart.  Pacing  up  and 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       307 

down  the  porch,  like  a  born  aristo- 
crat, looking  very  sleek  and  fat,  was 
my  cat.  I  knew  she  had  not  trans- 
gressed upon  her  nature,  but  a  feel- 
ing of  revulsion  came  over  me. 
When  she  would  have  rubbed  her 
soft  furry  head  against  my  gown, 
I  pushed  her  rudely  away.  Oh,  my 
poor  birds,  my  poor  birds! 

They  cried  until  dusky  eve;  then 
perched  side  by  side  on  a  limb  near 
the  empty  nest,  as  if  mutely  stri- 
ving to  comfort  each  other. 

As  I  do  not  believe  in  capital  pun- 
ishment, I  could  not  kill  the  cat; 
no  more  could  I  tie  her  up  or  im- 
prison her.  There  is  a  certain  hau- 
teur in  the  feline  race  that  forbids 
familiarity.  One  can  shame  a  poor 
dog;  but  who  dares  to  humiliate 
the  family  cat?  I  decided  to  give 
her  away. 


308       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Next  day  I  heard  some  good 
news.  The  Misses  Lark,  a  couple 
of  dressmakers  who  live  in  the  cot- 
tage beyond  Mr.  Spear's,  had  lost 
their  family  cat  —  so  the  butcher 
man  told  me.  This  cat  had  died  of 
old  age,  and  was  buried  with  hon- 
ours under  a  fall-pippin  tree.  The 
poor  ladies  were  feeling  very  lonely 
over  their  loss.  I  determined  to 
give  them  a  glad  surprise :  I  would 
send  them  my  cat. 

If  one  has  a  particle  of  trust,  he 
will  always  find  an  open  door  to  his 
difficulties.  I  took  my  feline  up- 
stairs and  brushed  her  fur  until  it 
shone;  I  tied  a  scarlet  ribbon  about 
her  neck  in  a  most  fetching  bow; 
then  I  called  Araminta  Sprangle- 
berry,  and  bade  her  bring  me  the 
covered  basket  and  a  strong  bit  of 
cord. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       309 

We  had  some  difficulty  in  per- 
suading the  cat  to  lie  still  in  the 
basket.  She  was  preternaturally 
bright,  and  scented  something 
wrong.  I  was  forced  to  box  her 
ears ;  but  at  last  I  succeeded  in  get- 
ting the  cover  down,  and  securely 
fastened  with  a  stout  twine.  Then 
I  put  the  basket  in  one  of  Ara- 
minta's  moist  black  hands,  and  in 
the  other  a  generous  bunch  of  roses. 
"  Now,"  I  said,  "  run  across  the 
fields  as  far  as  Mr.  Spear's  house; 
then  by  the  road,  just  beyond,  you 
will  see  a  little  cottage  painted 
white  with  green  blinds.  The 
Misses  Lark  live  there." 

"Birds?"  inquired  Araminta. 

"  No,  ladies.  Knock  at  the  door, 
and  when  it  is  opened,  say  Mrs. 
Elliot  sent  the  basket  and  the  roses 
with  her  compliments." 


310       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"Shall  I  tell  'em  de  cat  et  de 
robins? " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  Sha'n't  I  say  nufrm  about  de 
cat?" 

"  Not  a  word,  Araminta." 

"  Den  I'll  jes'  say,  '  Howdy  dew, 
Mis'  Elliot  done  sent  dis  yer  cat  an* 
dese  posies  wid  her  comp'ments/ ' 

There  was  a  twinkle  of  black 
heels  and  an  indignant  "meow!" 
from  the  basket  as  my  messenger 
disappeared. 

Next  day  I  received  a  grateful 
letter  from  the  Misses  Lark.  It 
made  me  feel  quite  self-sacrificing. 

"DEAR  MRS.  ELLIOT:"     it    ran, 
'  We  have  received  the  flowers  and 
the  beautiful  cat.    The  sweet  crea- 
ture was  delighted  to  be  free  from 
the  basket.     We  at  once  applied 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       311 

butter  to  her  paws  to  make  her  feel 
at  home.  She  has,  as  yet,  showed 
no  inclination  to  abandon  us; 
though,  to  be  sure,  we  have  kept 
her  locked  in  the  woodshed,  and 
feed  her  on  cream  three  times  a  day. 

"  After  the  loss  of  our  own  old 
Tabitha,  we  feel  that  it  was  like  a 
stroke  of  Providence,  this  coming 
of  a  new  pet.  I  think  maiden  ladies 
are  quite  apt  to  be  over-fond  of 
their  pets,  don't  you?  We  can 
hardly  express  our  thanks  to  you; 
to  think  you  should  have  sent  us 
your  own  dear  kitty,  for  we  remem- 
ber perfectly  seeing  the  sweet  crea- 
ture about  the  house,  the  last  time 
we  sewed  for  you.  But  it  is  like 
you  —  you  are  always  thinking  of 
others.  We  thank  you  so  much. 
"  Yours  devotedly, 

"  PATIENCE  AND  PRUDENCE  LARK. 


312      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

11  P.  S.  After  this  kindness,  we 
feel  that  should  you  require  any 
dressmaking  done,  we  shall  be  glad 
to  do  it  at  reduced  rates." 

How  little  it  takes  to  make  some 
people  happy ! 

I  paid  a  visit  to  the  maple  tree, 
and  told  the  poor  bereaved  parents 
that  their  tormentor  was  gone;  and 
that  they  could  return  in  peace  an- 
other spring,  for  I  should  never 
again  keep  a  cat.  What  was  my 
surprise,  to  see  my  robins  hopping 
cheerfully  about,  seemingly  making 
plans  to  build  another  nest.  "  'Tis 
just  as  well,"  I  thought,  "  for  why 
should  the  heart  of  a  bird  be  sad? 
Human  hearts  can  suffer  enough 
for  both." 


MAX    TAKES   A 
r AC  AT  I  ON 


XX 


AX  brought  home 
pleasant  news 
one  night.  He 
told  it  to  me  as 
we  sat  in  the 
moonlight  beside  our  little  river.  I 
had  asked  him  to  go  for  a  row;  but 
he  was  feeling  rather  tired,  and 
after  all  I  was  quite  content  to  sit 
and  watch  the  moonbeams  bathe  in 
the  rippling  water,  and  to  count  the 
darting  fireflies  in  the  branches  of 
the  beech.  Moonlight  is  so  be- 
witching in  the  country,  especially 
beside  a  little  river.  If  the  sun  be 

813 


314       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

God's  first  cousin,  mayhap  the 
moon  is  His  second  cousin.  That 
great  golden  globe  has  certainly  the 
right  to  claim  some  relationship. 

One  grows  tender  at  night 
toward  all  humanity.  I  felt  very 
tender  toward  Max  as  I  sat  beside 
him  on  the  little  bench.  We  some- 
times grow  a  trifle  sentimental,  par- 
ticularly in  the  moonlight.  Max 
has  not  outgrown  the  habit  of  tell- 
ing me  that  I  am  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  him.  With  all  my 
faults  he  loves  me  still;  and  I  — 
well,  I  am  sure  I  should  never  have 
married  at  all,  had  I  failed  to  meet 
Max. 

The  news  pleased  me.  My  hus- 
band had  decided  to  take  a 
week's  vacation.  The  sub-editor,  he 
thought,  might  be  trusted  to  run 
the  newspaper  for  that  length  of 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       315 

time  —  provided  he  (Max)  did  not 
go  far  away.  "  I  must  be  on  hand 
should  any  lapses  occur,"  said  the 
dear  fellow. 

"  Max,"  I  remarked,  "  if  you 
should  die,  that  newspaper  would 
go  on  just  the  same." 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied;  "but 
while  I  am  alive  I  consider  it  a 
great  responsibility." 

Poor  Max.  He  is  as  firmly  bound 
to  business  as  was  Ixion  to  his 
wheel. 

Presently  he  asked,  "  Where  shall 
we  go,  Judith?  You  know  it  must 
not  be  far  from  home." 

"  Let  us  go  camping,"  I  said. 
"  Oh,  Max,  I  have  so  often  thought 
how  I  should  love  to  be  out  in  the 
woods  all  night;  the  great  solemn 
woods!  I  want  to  hear  the  owls 
hoot  and  all  the  strange,  uncanny 


316       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


calls  from  tree  to  tree.     Do  let  us 
go  camping,  dear." 

"  Who  will  do  the  cooking?  "  in- 
quired Max. 

"  Oh,"  I  faltered,  "  I  had  forgot- 
ten that  we  must  eat." 

"  Eat !  "  said  Max.  "  One  can  de- 
vour more  food  while  camping  than 
at  any  other  time  in  his  life.  I  may 
well  ask,  Judith,  who  will  do  the 
cooking." 

"  We  could  take  Rhoda,"  I  ven- 
tured. "  But  then,  she  wouldn't 
want  to  leave  Araminta  behind; 
and  it  would  not  be  camping  with 
Araminta  Sprangleberry  to  spy 
upon  me." 

'  You  may  count  me  out,  if  that 
little  black  imp  goes  along,"  said 
Max. 

I  thought  a  while  and  a  bright 
idea  came  to  me.  "  I  have  it ! "  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       317 

exclaimed  forcibly:  "We  need  not 
go  far  from  home.  We  will  camp 
in  the  woods  on  the  south  side  of 
the  lake.  There  isn't  a  lovelier  spot 
in  the  world.  Then  Rhoda  can 
cook  our  meals  at  home  and  send 
them  to  us  by  Araminta.  Max,  I 
have  made  up  my  mind;  you  must 
buy  a  tent  to-morrow." 

He  laughed.  "  Then  we  shall 
spend  our  vacation  not  a  mile  from 
home?" 

"  It  will  be  so  convenient,"  I  said. 
"  If  the  Madonna  lilies  should  come 
out,  Pat  can  easily  send  me  word. 
I  wouldn't  miss  seeing  those  lilies 
bloom." 

"And  if  the  sub-editor  fakes,  I 
can  easily  slip  into  town,"  said  Max. 
"  Judith,  you  are  a  far-seeing  little 
woman." 

So  it  was  arranged  to  OUT  satis- 


jg 


318       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

faction,  and  I  dreamed  that  night 
of  long  woodsy  aisles  with  the 
moonbeams  glimmering  through 
them. 

Where  can  one  find  a  sweeter, 
fairer,  more  restful  spot  than  the 
border  of  a  quiet  lake  ? 

The  sea  is  ever  murmurous,  com- 
plaining to  the  land;  but  the  little 
wavelets  that  splash  against  the 
pebbly  beach  on  my  dear,  dear  lake 
are  like  so  many  tender  runes  in 
the  ear  of  nature's  child. 

We  pitched  our  tent  in  the  edge 
of  the  south  grove,  quite  near  to 
the  water.  Some  appreciative  soul 
had  occupied  this  very  spot  before 
us  and  left  behind  a  little  wooden 
platform  that  I  called  "  our  porch." 
I  had  Pat  bring  down  two  rocking- 
chairs  to  place  upon  this  porch; 
for  why  not,  when  one  is  enjoying 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       319 


himself,  be  comfortable  as  well  as 
happy? 

Max  demurred  a  little  at  my  ar- 
rangements. He  thought  we  should 
have  a  rainy  week;  but  I  felt  very 
sure  that  not  a  drop  of  rain  would 
fall.  There  was  a  sort  of  steadfast 
good-weather  look  to  the  sky  that 
reassured  me. 

It  was  my  first  experience  in 
camping  out.  I  had  wanted  to 
camp  out  often  enough,  but  some 
one  always  opposed  me.  The  only 
thing  that  reconciles  me  to  grow- 
ing old  is  that  I  shall  get  my  way 
oftener. 

Now,  it  was  my  own  sweet  will 
for  one  solid  week  to  enjoy  a  sylvan 
life.  I  should  have  no  care,  for 
Rhoda  was  to  prepare  our  food.  It 
would  be  brought  to  us  by  the  saucy, 
bright  -  eyed  Araminta  Sprangle- 


320       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

berry.  She  would  come  trailing 
through  the  dew  every  morning, 
her  jubilant  feet  scarcely  touching 
the  moist  brown  earth,  her  fresh 
young  voice  lifted  in  song,  a  basket 
on  her  arm  containing  our  goodly 
breakfast.  I  thank  God  every  day 
for  the  inestimable  blessing  of  a 
good  cook. 

We  built  a  stove  out  of  stones 
and  each  morning  I  had  a  fire  leap- 
ing and  dancing  in  it,  darting  forth 
in  little  ruddy  tongues  of  flame 
through  convenient  cracks,  all 
ready  to  heat  the  coffee.  Then  I 
would  lay  the  little  board  table  on 
our  platform  with  snowy  linen  and 
decorate  it  bountifully  with  wild 
flowers.  When  Araminta  had  ap- 
peared, the  coffee  had  been  made 
and  the  good  things  set  forth,  Max 
and  I  would  draw  up  our  rocking- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       321 

chairs  and  eat  and  rock,  and  rock 
and  eat. 

I  told  Max  it  reminded  me  of  Mr. 
Watts's  lovely  hymn,  which  runs 
something  like  this: 

"  Here,  will  I  sit  and  sing  "  (I  substituted 
rock)  "  myself  away  to  everlasting  bliss." 

Araminta  always  watched  us 
with  hungry  eyes,  anxiously  hoping 
we  would  leave  a  few  morsels  for 
her.  Sometimes  it  was  hard  to 
deny  myself,  but  I  respected  that 
mute  wish.  I  would  not  ask  Max 
to  go  hungry ;  but  I  could  curb  my 
own  appetite. 

"We'se  ain't  hab  nuffin  good  to 
eat  up  to  de  house,"  said  Araminta; 
"Aunt  Rhody  she  say  brack  folks 
don'  need  much." 

Araminta  always  hated  to  leave 


322       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

us.  She  would  linger  about  until 
I  was  forced  to  send  her  home. 

One  day  she  said,  "  Miss  Judith, 
I  jes'  loves  you;  I  jes'  longs  to 
stay  wif  you.  When  you'se  gwine 
walkin'  in  de  woods,  seems  if  all 
de  posies  knowed  it  and  sprung  up 
de  brighter,  an'  all  de  birds  mos' 
bust  deir  sides  a-singin'.  It's  dref- 
ful  nice  a-walkin'  in  de  woods  wif 
you." 

What  could  I  do  but  let  her  ac- 
company me?  I  did  not  want  her, 
for  she  disturbed  my  meditations, 
but,  alas,  she  has  discovered  that 
softer  strain  in  me  —  I  am  easily 
persuaded ! 

The  first  night  Max  and  I  spent 
in  the  woods,  we  reposed  on  a  bed 
of  fragrant  hemlock  boughs.  They 
felt  rather  knotty  through  the 
sheets,  and  Max  did  so  much  groan- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       323 


ing  that  I  could  not  hear  the  owls 
hoot.  When  I  could  endure  it  no 
longer  I  arose  and  went  outside  the 
tent. 

I  dared  not  go  far,  for  an 
uncanny  feeling  possessed  me. 
Maybe  there  were  witches  in  the 
woods!  I  thought  of  Macbeth's 
trio,  and  thrilled  with  a  sudden 
terror  when  quite  near  me-  a  horrid 
little  screech-owl  gave  forth  its 
quavering  notes.  Then,  suddenly, 
across  the  lake,  there  was  lifted  up 
a  mournful  voice,  so  heart-breaking 
in  its  pathos,  that  I  turned  and  ran 
quickly  back  to  the  tent.  I  learned 
next  day  this  was  but  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Spear's  donkey,  that  loves  to 
bray  at  night. 

I  crawled  up  close  to  Max  and  at 
last  fell  asleep.  I  awoke  at  four. 
The  gray  light  of  early  dawn  was 


324       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

sifting  through  the  flap  of  the  tent ; 
and  outside,  soft  and  clear,  like 
molten  melody,  sounded  the  notes 
of  the  wood-thrush,  welcoming  and 
blessing  the  coming  day.  Down 
the  long  aisles  of  the  wood  came 
answering  notes,  sweet  and  distant; 
and  presently,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  grove  were  filled  with  music. 
I  arose  and  made  a  quick  toilet. 

The  lake  was  still  gray  when  I 
launched  my  boat  upon  it ;  but  sud- 
denly it  began  to  twinkle,  and 
vague  little  lines  of  light  shot  over 
it.  Yonder,  near  the  rushes,  ghost- 
like wisps  of  mist  lifted  and  stole 
quickly  away.  A  loon  laughed, 
and  through  the  dimness  a  crane 
rose,  trailing  his  long  black  legs 
behind  him,  flying  westward.  It 
was  morning,  but  not  yet  sunrise. 
A  gay  little  wind  kept  frisking 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       325 


through  the  tree-tops,  for  I  heard 
the  leaves  murmuring  as  if  they, 
too,  would  praise. 

I  was  glad  that  I  had  slept  on 
hemlock  boughs.  A  more  luxuri- 
ous couch  might  have  caused  me 
to  oversleep,  just  when  I  wanted  to 
drench  my  soul  in  this  pearly  sea 
of  dawn. 

I  discovered  that  cows  rise  early. 
Over  yonder  in  the  field,  I  saw 
them  forsaking  recumbent  posi- 
tions to  go  quietly  to  grazing. 
Presently  a  horse  got  up  and  whin- 
nied. 

I  rowed  the  boat  farther  toward 
the  west  side  of  the  lake  —  in  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Spear's  farm.  It 
was  growing  harvest  time  and  the 
wheat  bent  to  the  freshening  wind. 
I  watched  those  burnished  fields 
until  the  sun  rose  and  turned  them 


%,   Ji 
X2 


326       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


into  seas  of  gold.  How  beautiful 
everything  was,  and  so  many 
women  asleep  missing  it  all !  What 
a  pity  such  happiness  had  only  one 
onlooker! 

I  turned  and  rowed  my  boat  hur- 
riedly back  to  camp.  My  own  hus- 
band was  asleep  and  missing  it  all; 
but  I  tried  in  vain  to  arouse  him: 
he  only  murmured  uneasily  that 
some  one  had  "  made  pi  of  it; "  and 
called  for  the  printer's  devil.  How 
can  an  editor  appreciate  a  sunrise 
when  he  is  so  troubled  in  his  soul? 
I  ceased  to  nudge  him.  "  He  looks 
pale,"  I  thought;  and  I  determined 
to  have  Pat  bring  down  a  mattress 
that  very  day,  to  place  above  the 
knotty  hemlock  boughs.  If  Max 
could  not  drink  health  and  inspira- 
tion from  the  fount  of  morn,  he 
should  at  least  have  a  decent  bed 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       327 

to  lie  on.  I  kissed  him  and  let  him 
sleep. 

When  he  awoke  at  eight  o'clock, 
the  fire  was  burning  merrily  in  the 
stove;  the  table  was  laid  and 
strewn  with  wild  flowers;  the 
aroma  of  coffee  filled  the  air.  Ara- 
minta  and  I  were  only  waiting  to 
serve  the  good  breakfast  cooked  by 
the  valuable  and  steadfast  Rhoda. 
If  I  speak  too  often  of  my  cook,  it 
is  because  I  so  understand  her  value. 

Max  ran  down  to  our  little  dock 
and  dipped  his  head  in  the  lake, 
shaking  the  shining  drops  from  his 
hair,  exactly  as  a  shaggy  dog 
shakes  himself;  then  he  returned 
happy  and  free  from  care.  In  the 
pleasant  wood,  with  the  sunshine 
falling  chastely  through  the  leaves 
and  the  cheerful  birds  singing  all 
about  us,  we  seated  ourselves  in  our 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


rocking-chairs  to  partake  of  food. 
Behind  us  stood  our  little  maid 
with  kinky  hair  and  star-bright 
eyes,  waving  her  branch  to  keep  off 
the  insects. 


THE   CAMP    BY 
THE  LAKE 


XXI 


0-DAY  Priscilla 
Brown  came  to 
visit  me  in  her 
clumsy,  flat-bot- 
tomed boat  that 

is  so  hard  to  row.  But  she  looked 
like  a  picture  in  her  light  gown  and 
leghorn  hat,  weighted  down  with 
roses.  Her  cheeks  were  all  aglow 
from  the  exertion  of  rowing. 

She  was  greatly  interested  in  our 
camp  and  I  invited  her  to  stay  to 
supper.  At  precisely  six  o'clock 
came  Araminta  with  the  two  bas- 
kets hanging  from  her  slender  arms. 


330 


Midsummer  Wooing 


M 


We  unpacked  the  good  things,  and 
I  am  proud  to  relate  I  served  to 
Priscilla  Brown,  light  biscuits, 
chicken  croquettes  and  raspberries 
with  cream;  delicious  little  choco- 
late cakes  and  tea  of  my  own  brew- 
ing. The  table  was  made  gay  with 
delicate  ferns  and  bold  black-eyed 
Susans.  Priscilla  said  that  it  did 
not  seem  like  camping  out,  where 
one  always  burned  things  in  the 
cooking  or  else  made  them  taste  of 
smoke. 

Max,  who  had  spent  a  lazy  day 
in  his  hammock  and  on  the  water, 
said  that  if  it  were  not  for  his  bed 
he  should  be  quite  content;  and 
when  a  little  later  Pat  appeared, 
staggering  under  the  load  of  a  mat- 
tress, which  we  laid  upon  the 
knotty  hemlock  boughs,  which 
served  as  springs,  he  expressed 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       331 

his  entire  satisfaction  with  camp 
life. 

I  wonder  why  it  is  that  existence 
in  the  woods  is  such  a  panacea  to 
mankind.  It  is  not  the  quiet,  for 
lo,  when  one  stops  to  listen,  there 
is  busy  life  all  about  him.  Through 
the  long  avenues  of  trees,  the  deni- 
zens of  the  wood  ply  their  tasks. 
Some  at  night,  others  in  broad  day- 
light. Always,  there  is  stir  and  la- 
bour; yet  here  is  rest  and  whole- 
some living  for  man.  Truly,  old 
mother  Nature  calls  him  and  nur- 
tures him  afresh  amid  her  green 
trees. 

The  spirit  of  the  woods  fell  upon 
Max.  He  ceased  to  worry  about 
the  sub-editor,  and  showed  interest 
in  affairs  about  him.  We  took  long 
delightful  rows  upon  the  lake, 
nights  and  mornings.  He  fished 


332       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

with  the  utmost  patience,  but  rarely 
caught  anything.  Oh,  it  was  a 
week  of  ideal  happiness  and  it 
ended  all  too  soon! 

I  should  have  been  more  than 
happy  but  for  Araminta  Sprangle- 
berry.  This  dusky  daughter  of 
God  was  determined  to  follow  me; 
I  could  not  escape  her.  She  liked 
camping,  too;  and  I  fear  her  Aunt 
Rhoda  saw  little  of  her  recreant 
niece  that  week. 

She  was  always  hovering  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  wood,  waiting  to 
dart  in  after  me;  and  when  I  saw 
I  could  not  elude  her,  I  accepted  her 
company  with  the  spirit  of  a  Chris- 
tian. One  morning  I  spied  a  scarlet 
tanager  among  the  boughs  of  a 
scrub-oak.  He  looked  like  a  ruby 
set  amid  emeralds,  and  I  drew  in 
my  breath  with  delight.  I  listened 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      333 

to  hear  him  sing;  but  it  was  not 
the  sweet  melody  of  more  modestly 
robed  birds.  He  sang  well  enough 
for  a  scarlet  tanager,  that  after  all 
is  fashioned  but  to  shine  before  his 
fellow  birds.  I  was  very  still, 
watching  him  intently,  when  Ara- 
minta  happened  along  and  scared 
him  away.  Another  day,  I  was  ob- 
serving the  wood-pewee,  a  very  shy 
bird,  when  all  was  spoiled  by  Miss 
Sprangleberry  twittering,  "  Fse 
found  you,  Missus." 

How  I  did  wish  I  might  get  lost 
from  Araminta! 

One  day,  as  we  sat  upon  opposite 
logs  in  the  woods,  she  said:  "  Miss 
Judith,  aren't  you  glad  you'se  ain't 
brack?" 

I  confessed  I  was  glad. 

"  I'se  don't  like  God  one  bit,"  said 
Araminta,  "'cause  he  made  me 


334       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


brack.  I'se  don'  wanter  be  no  nig- 
gah." 

"Araminta,"  I  remarked,  sol- 
emnly, "  you  can't  help  yourself ; 
God  doesn't  ask  us  what  we  want 
to  be;  He  just  fashions  us  to  suit 
Himself." 

"Dat's  true,  Miss  Judith,"  she 
returned;  "but  I'se  jes'  got  a 
grudge  'gin  God,"  and  she  dug  her 
bare  toes  fiercely  into  a  convenient 
mound  of  moss. 

"Why,  Araminta,"  I  said  re- 
proachfully, "  I  thought  you  had  re- 
ligion?" 

"  Oh,  I'se  got  'ligion  fast  enuf, 
Miss  Judith.  I'se  bin  on  de  mo- 
nah's  binch.  You  see,  I'se  jes'  got 
to  hab  'ligion  or  de  debbil'll  kotch 
me." 

Poor  child !  I  did  not  know  what 
to  say  to  her.  How  could  I  com- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       335 

fort  her  from  the  great  sense  of 
wrong  wrestling  with  her  soul? 
Just  then  a  couple  of  crows  flew 
through  the  woods  and  alighted  on 
a  tree  near  by. 

"  Look,  Araminta,"  I  cried, 
"  there  are  a  couple  of  coloured  in- 
dividuals that  do  not  object  to 
being  black! " 

Araminta  eyed  the  crows.  The 
sun  touching  their  glossy  coats 
made  them  shine  with  an  iridescent 
glitter  that  was  truly  dazzling. 
"  Dey  does  look  fine!  "  said  the  little 
darky. 

As  if  in  response  to  our  admira- 
tion, the  birds  gave  a  couple  of 
cheerful  caws  in  their  raucous 
voices.  I  like  crows;  they  are  so 
healthy  and  so  openly  wicked. 
Crows  and  gypsies  are  the  frankest 
thieves  alive. 


336       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Araminta,"  I  continued,  "  if 
you  are  black,  you  have  a  cheerful, 
shining  face,  and  pleasant  manners. 
I  shouldn't  worry  about  my  colour; 
the  crows  don't." 

"  Jes'  as  you  say,  Missus,"  re- 
turned the  exuberant  child.  She 
promptly  rose  from  the  log  and  ran 
to  a  little  stream;  waded  in  and 
jumped  up  and  down,  spattering 
the  water  about  her  until  she  looked 
like  a  dusky  Undine.  This  over, 
she  came  back  and  danced  and  cut 
capers  on  the  mound  of  moss  be- 
fore me,  like  a  soulless  thing.  I 
watched  her  and  laughed.  What 
use  to  rebuke  her?  but  presently  I 
saw  my  chance.  "  Araminta,"  I 
said,  "  you  must  go  home  and 
change  your  frock.  It  is  all  spat- 
tered, you  careless  thing! " 

She  looked  dismayed.     "  I  don* 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       337 

care  nuffin  'bout  my  frock,  Miss 
Judith." 

"  But  I  do ;  how  can  you  bring 
our  dinner,  looking  like  a  little 
fright  ?  Mr.  Max  would  not  like  it. 
Come,  hurry  home." 

She  saw  I  was  in  earnest  and 
turned  reluctantly,  but  came  back: 
"  Say,  Miss  Judith,"  she  pleaded, 
"  can't  I  jes'  kiss  de  end  ob  your 
skirt  ribband?  I  lubs  you  so!  " 

"  You  may  kiss  my  hand,  Ara- 
minta,"  I  said ;  and  the  little  moist 
red  lips  touched  my  palm  and  left 
a  warm  spot  behind.  Poor  little 
Araminta !  I  wonder  why  I  did  not 
let  her  kiss  my  forehead;  and  yet, 
—  well,  is  it  not  strange  that  a  few 
shades  of  colour  should  so  separate 
us? 

She  left  me,  and  I  wandered 
deeper  into  the  woods,  so  content 


338       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

to  be  alone.  Alone,  did  I  say?  No; 
an  inquisitive  little  gray  rabbit 
peeped  at  me  from  under  a  clump 
of  sweet  fern,  and  a  chipmunk  near 
by  flaunted  his  saucy  tail,  then  sat 
upright  on  a  fallen  log,  holding  his 
little  paws  as  if  in  mock  courtesy. 
A  black-and-white  creeper  climbing 
his  spiral  staircase  around  a  tall 
chestnut  tree  attracted  me;  and 
once  I  saw  a  rare  sight  in  these 
woods,  a  gorgeous  red-headed 
woodpecker.  I  plucked  a  few  stems 
of  spotted  pipsissewa  and  some 
ghostly  Indian  pipes,  that  grew 
where  it  was  all  moist  and  shady. 
By  and  by  I  went  homeward  and, 
to  my  surprise,  found  Max  asleep 
in  the  hammock. 

I  awoke  him  and  told  him  it  was 
shameful  so  to  waste  the  day;  but 
he  only  smiled  and  said  I  could 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       339 

enjoy  enough  for  two;    and  I  be- 
lieve he  is  right. 

Some  people,  I  have  heard,  do 
not  dare  to  enjoy  themselves  for 
fear  of  suffering.  They  argue,  that 
one  extreme  follows  another;  and 
so  they  repress  the  natural  well- 
springs  of  joy,  only  letting  a  little 
trickle  forth  now  and  then  in  a  most 
cautious  manner.  If  they  find  they 
are  beginning  to  have  a  good 
time,  they  immediately  turn  their 
thoughts  to  the  tomb  or  to  some- 
thing equally  as  solemn.  For  my 
part,  when  I  think  of  the  tomb,  I 
always  infer  that  I  need  a  tonic  or 
a  brisk  walk  in  the  open  air.  The 
dear,  faithful  earth  is  surely  planned 
for  man's  enjoyment;  so  why 
should  one  die  a  thousand  deaths 
in  anticipation,  when  just  one  will 
suffice?  This  is  a  sermon  that  costs 


340       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


nothing,  but  is  very  profitable  to 
the  soul. 

Speaking  of  sermons  reminds  me 
of  Mr.  Simmons.  I  coaxed  Max  to 
go  with  me  that  very  afternoon  to 
visit  the  "  New  Eden."  He  re- 
belled a  little,  for  editors  and  min- 
isters are  not  always  congenial. 
However,  I  am  of  such  a  persistent 
nature  that  it  is  hard  for  Max  to 
deny  me.  He  declares  that  it  is  far 
easier  to  yield;  so,  presently,  we 
were  walking  across  the  fields  in 
the  direction  of  the  minister's  home. 

We  found  a  little  old-fashioned 
farmhouse,  but  very  quaint  and 
cozy  inside.  Mrs.  Simmons  is  truly 
a  genius.  Her  rooms  are  hung  with 
chintz  of  dainty  patterns  ;  there  are 
broad  window-seats  piled  with  silk 
pillows,  and  lamps  with  gorgeous 
shades  standing  on  little  tables. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       341 

She  is  a  slight  gray-haired  lady, 
who  looks  up  to  her  husband. 
Every  time  her  brown  eyes  turn  in 
his  direction  you  feel,  "  Here  is  a 
match  made  in  Heaven." 

Max  was  very  much  taken  with 
her;  and  as  I  was  equally  taken 
with  the  minister,  we  paired  off  and 
walked  into  the  garden. 

I  was  glad  Mrs.  Simmons  was 
such  a  talker.  When  I  heard  her 
tell  Max  that  her  only  brother  was 
an  editor,  I  knew  the  minister  and 
I  would  be  left  to  ourselves;  and  I 
did  so  want  to  ask  him  all  about  his 
garden. 

He  told  me  that  he  had  tried  Mr. 
Brown's  bug-exterminator  and  that 
it  had  really  worked  well.  To  sub- 
stantiate this  statement,  he  trium- 
phantly produced  a  tin  can  filled 
with  potato  bugs.  "I  thought  I 


342       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


would  measure  them,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  here  a  good  quart;  and  yon- 
der is  my  potato  patch  looking 
clean  and  trim." 

I  said  it  was  certainly  a  most 
excellent  machine;  and  that  I 
should  try  mine  the  following  week. 
"  I  should  have  tried  it  before,"  I 
confessed,  "  for  Mr.  Brown  feels 
very  delicate  about  the  matter.  He 
says  he  will  not  keep  the  money 
if  the  machine  fails  to  work;  and 
after  my  lying  awake  one  whole 
night,  planning  how  to  get  that 
money  for  him  and  thereby  save 
the  hens,  why,  it  would  never  do  to 
have  it  refunded.  I  lament,"  I  con- 
tinued, "  that  I  have  no  potato 
patch.  You  see,  I  never  dreamed 
that  I  should  need  to  raise  potato 
bugs.  How  little  one  knows  what 
he  will  need!  I  planted  marigolds 


-' 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      343 

instead  of  tubers  in  my  kitchen 
garden.  I  set  the  plants  between 
the  rows  of  cabbages,  as  I  wished 
to  see  how  they  would  look  in  the 
early  fall  —  pretty  goldenly,  don't 
you  think?  Then,  we  haven't  many 
bugs  of  any  kind  this  year,  owing 
to  early  industry  on  the  part  of  Pat 
and  myself:  however,  my  neigh- 
bour, Mrs.  Sullivan,  has  quite  a 
sizable  potato  patch.  I  have 
thought  of  asking  permission  to 
gather  her  bugs;  anyhow,  I  must 
do  something  before  Priscilla 
Brown  visits  me  again;  for  I  have 
promised  to  send  word  to  her 
father." 

Mr.  Simmons  thought  it  would 
be  just  the  plan  to  ask  Mrs.  Sulli- 
van ;  and  then  we  fell  to  discussing 
his  garden.  It  is  really  a  most  sat- 
isfactory garden.  There  are  high 


344       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

brick  walls  on  two  sides  of  it,  where 
Mr.  Simmons  is  starting  fruit-trees 
and  vines.  He  already  has  a  young 
apricot  in  process  of  training.  He 
has  built  a  fine  grape  arbour  with 
seats  running  inside,  and  painted  it 
green.  How  lovely  it  will  be,  when 
the  vines  have  overgrown  it,  to  sit 
and  look  up  at  the  soft,  white,  vel- 
vety linings  to  the  grape  leaves! 
One  part  of  the  garden  is  terraced 
and  made  gay  with  narrow  ribbon- 
beds  of  mixed  flowers;  but  what 
surprised  me  most  was  a  huge 
mound  of  earth,  set  exactly  in  the 
middle  of  a  green  lawn  and  entirely 
covered  with  moss  pink,  in  full 
bloom.  This  mound  looked  so 
pretty  that  I  asked  Mr.  Simmons 
how  he  came  to  think  of  such  a 
charming  idea. 

He  said  it  was  not  original  on  his 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       345 

part;  that  there  used  to  be  just 
such  a  mound  in  his  grandfather's 
garden  in  their  old  home  in  Vir- 
ginia. "  We  children  used  to  think 
there  was  an  Indian  buried  in  it, 
and  once  I  started  to  dig  it  up,  but 
did  not  get  far  when  grandmother 
discovered  me.  I  have  always  re- 
membered that  mound  and  wanted 
one  just  like  it,"  he  continued. 

Mr.  Simmons  told  me  that  he  did 
not  care  for  a  garden  that  was  dug 
up  every  spring  and  made  over. 
He  said  he  had  invited  his  flowers 
to  come  and  stay.  He  thought  per- 
haps, he  should  purchase  the  place, 
and  every  year  he  desired  his  old 
friends  to  smile  up  at  him  from  the 
brown  earth;  to  whisper,  "We  are 
here  again."  "I  like,"  he  con- 
cluded, "  sweet  confusion,  and  not 
dull  precision." 


346      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

I  pointed  out  to  him  an  excellent 
spot  for  Madonna  lilies  and  an 
equally  good  one  for  gladioli;  I 
advised  him  to  grow  zinnias  and  to 
love  them;  "  for,"  said  I,  "  they  are 
so  hardy  and  gay  that  they  bloom 
on  when  all  the  other  flowers  are 
gone."  Then  we  picked  out  a  shady 
spot  for  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  he 
showed  me  his  white-lilac  hedge. 

I  had  never  thought  before  of 
having  a  white-lilac  hedge;  but  I 
could  see  it  was  a  thing  of  beauty, 
greatly  to  be  coveted.  "  Fortu- 
nately," I  commented  to  myself, 
"  white  lilacs  are  not  dear." 

We  talked  so  long  that  Max  and 
Mrs.  Simmons  —  they  had  quite  ex- 
hausted the  editor  question  —  came 
to  look  for  us,  so  the  minister  and 
I  were  forced  reluctantly  to  part; 
but  he  followed  us  to  the  gate  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       347 

tell  me  of  a  certain  plant  that  he 
had  sent  for.  He  promised,  when 
it  came,  to  divide  the  root  with  me. 

We  had  gotten  quite  a  piece  off, 
when  he  called  to  me.  I  turned 
back  while  Max  waited.  The  min- 
ister wanted  to  inquire  if  I  owned 
a  sun-dial. 

"No,"  I  said,  "but  I  expect  to 
own  one,"  and  I  do.  That  very 
night  I  dreamed  of  white-lilac 
hedges  and  sun-dials. 


MR.  BROWN 

EXPERIMENTS 

WITH   HIS 

AIR-SHIP 


XXII 


\LL  the  week,  at 
spare  times,  Pat 
has  been  busy 
setting  out  a 
white-lilac  hedge 
along  the  south  side  of  my  field.  It 
is  a  poor  time  of  year  to  plant  a 
hedge;  but  the  lilac  is  a  hardy,  in- 
digenous creature  that  can  be  dis- 
turbed at  any  time,  and  I  do  so 
want  this  hedge  to  make  some 
growth  toward  next  year. 

Aunt  Matilda  has  sent  me  a  hun- 
dred dollars  with  which  to  build 
that  high  board  fence  between  the 

348 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       349 

field  and  the  lane.  Her  terror  con- 
cerning the  bull  is  truly  pathetic. 
I  can  almost  feel  sorry  that  I  wrote 
to  her  about  him.  I  hate  to  build 
the  fence,  for  it  will  cut  off  such  a 
pretty  view  of  the  fields  and  the 
woods  beyond;  still,  I  suppose  I 
must  do  it.  I  was  just  thinking  this 
over,  when  Pat  came  and  told  me 
that  the  bull  was  dead.  They  found 
the  poor  animal,  he  explained,  in  a 
little  hollow  with  his  leg  broken. 
Nobody  knows  how  he  broke  his 
leg;  but  Mr.  Spear  had  to  shoot 
him.  Now  Aunt  Matilda  need  not 
longer  worry.  Of  course,  I  must 
write  at  once  and  set  her  mind  at 
ease. 

"DEAR  AUNT  MATILDA:"  I  wrote; 
"  You  need  no  longer  lie  awake 
nights  thinking  about  that  bull. 


350       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

The  poor  creature  is  dead  and  can 
harm  no  one. 

"  Mr.  Spear,  who  owned  him,  is 
a  friend  of  mine;  and  I  have  de- 
cided to  ask  him  to  change  his  pas- 
ture lot;  then  there  will  be  no  need 
to  build  the  fence.  I  could  not  see 
the  wheat-field  or  the  woods  beyond 
should  I  build  it;  and  oh,  Aunt 
Matilda,  I  do  so  enjoy  a  fine  land- 
scape. You  ought  to  see  the  wheat- 
field;  it  is  so  golden  just  now,  and 
every  little  wind  tosses  it  like  the 
waves  of  the  ocean.  Here  is  a  sea 
of  glory  that  will  not  drown  you, 
but  will  by  and  by  feed  you  with 
the  staff  of  life. 

"  Shall  I  return  the  hundred  dol- 
lars? Man  needs  but  little  here 
below,  but  truly,  woman  needs 
more,  and  a  gardener  can  always 
use  money  to  good  advantage. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       351 


"  I  hope  you  are  better  of  the 
gout,  dear  Aunt.  I  often  think  of 
you.  How  I  wish  you  could  hoe 
and  dig  as  well  as  I  can.  Max  and 
I  have  been  camping  for  a  whole 
week,  just  down  by  the  lake.  He 
needed  a  change.  We  should  have 
gone  farther  away,  but  for  the  cook- 
ing. Max  considered  that  so  im- 
portant. He  dared  not  trust  me  to 
do  it,  for  fear  of  slow  starvation. 
Of  course,  I  can  cook;  but  I  have 
no  special  talent  for  it  as  I  have  for 
gardening.  Rhoda  cooked  our  food 
for  us  at  home  —  over  our  own 
cook-stove  —  and  Araminta  (the 
little  girl  I  once  wrote  you  about) 
brought  it  to  us  in  baskets  three 
times  a  day.  Oh,  Aunt  Matilda, 
camping  out  is  an  ideal  life.  We 
are  both,  Max  and  I,  as  brown  as  a 
berry  and  fresh  as  a  pippin.  In 


352       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

truth  my  health  is  so  good  that  I 
continually  thank  God  I  am  alive. 
Let  me  know  at  once,  dear  Aunt, 
about  the  check,  for  every  day 
tempts  me  to  spend  it.  I  need  so 
much.  Your  devoted  niece, 

"  JUDITH." 

After  I  had  placed  this  letter  in 
the  little  post-box  by  our  gate,  I 
walked  on  to  Mrs.  Sullivan's.  She 
was  at  home,  and  when  I  asked  the 
privilege  of  gathering  a  few  of  her 
potato  bugs,  the  obliging  woman 
kindly  consented.  Accordingly, 
that  very  afternoon,  Pat  carried 
over  the  machine:  I  went  with 
him,  and,  surrounded  by  the  whole 
Sullivan  family,  all  in  a  gaping 
state  of  curiosity,  I  proceeded  to 
pour  some  of  the  powerful  chemical 
into  the  nozzle  to  the  umbrella. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       353 

Then  I  screwed  on  the  top  and  Pat 
began  to  push  the  machine  slowly 
up  and  down  the  potato  patch.  He 
worked  for  an  hour  or  more,  but  did 
not  gather  a  single  bug;  and  I  was 
quite  in  despair,  when  —  suddenly 
it  occurred  to  me  I  had  forgotten 
to  press  the  little  spring  that  Mr. 
Brown  told  me  would  open  the 
valve  in  the  machine.  I  pressed  it, 
and  to  the  great  delight  of  Pat  and 
myself,  and  the  whole  Sullivan  fam- 
ily included,  we  began  at  once  to 
gather  a  fine  crop  of  bugs.  I  de- 
clared that  I  could  not  see  why  this 
wonderful  and  ingenious  little  ma- 
chine had  not  already  made  Mr. 
Brown's  fortune!  We  all  know 
that  potato  bugs  are  plentiful. 

Although  the  garden  needed  him 
sadly,  I  allowed  Pat  to  clear  the 
whole  patch  for  Mrs.  Sullivan.  I 


354       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

wanted  to  tell  Priscilla  Brown,  with 
a  clear  conscience,  that  I  had  faith- 
fully tried  the  machine;  that  it  had 
proved  more  than  satisfactory;  and 
that  Mr.  Brown  need  no  longer 
have  qualms  about  keeping  the 
money. 

That  afternoon,  I  drank  two 
"  cups  o'  tay  "  and  ate  two  "  biled 
eggs,"  just  to  please  Mrs.  Sullivan. 
I  did  not  feel  hungry  in  the  least; 
but  an  Irishwoman's  heart  is  so 
warm  and  her  hospitality  so  great 
that  one  cannot  refuse  her. 

Mrs.  Sullivan's  mother  was  feel- 
ing exceedingly  smart.  She  wore 
her  starched  cap  with  a  fluted  ruffle 
to  it,  at  least  three  inches  wide,  that 
made  me  think  of  a  sunflower.  She 
is  past  ninety,  and  her  face  is 
seamed  with  lines,  but  brighter 
eyes  I  never  saw.  She  said  our 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       355 

machine  was  "  a  caution,"  and  when 
we  showed  her  the  potato  bugs 
it  had  gathered,  she  screamed: 
"  Howly  Mither !  look  at  thim  ugly 
divils!" 

Max  was  quite  interested  in  our 
bug-exterminator.  He  said  "  when 
he  found  time,  he  should  like  to  ex- 
amine it; "  but  in  the  meanwhile,  I 
was  besieged  with  enthusiastic 
neighbours,  who  borrowed  the  ma- 
chine until  the  fluid  was  exhausted. 
When  I  sent  to  Mr.  Brown's  for 
more  fluid,  the  most  provoking 
thing  happened.  Belinda,  by  mis- 
take, had  burned  up  the  formula; 
and  Mr.  Brown  —  though  he  sat 
for  a  straight  hour  racking  his  poor 
brain  —  could  not  recollect  its  one 
most  important  ingredient.  Then  I 
sent  to  Mr.  Simmons;  but  unfor- 
tunately, he  had  not  a  drop  of  the 


"VV 


356      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

fluid  left  for  us  to  analyze;  so  now 
we  have  two  idle  machines  waiting 
for  a  lost  thought.  Mr.  Brown  as- 
sures us,  that  as  soon  as  he  has  reg- 
ulated and  set  in  order  some  of  the 
later  ideas  of  his  brain,  he  will  be 
sure  to  find  this  lost  ingredient  — 
safely  pigeon-holed.  In  the  mean- 
time, how  potato  bugs  will  mul- 
tiply! 

The  other  day  Pat  showed  me  a 
shaded  corner  of  the  garden,  where 
he  said  maidenhair  fern  would 
grow.  I  delight  in  maidenhair  fern, 
it  is  so  green  and  delicate,  and  it 
mixes  so  deliciously  with  posies.  I 
have  always  longed  to  grow  it  in 
my  garden;  but  have  esteemed  it 
such  a  forest-loving  creature,  that 
I  dared  not  transplant  it.  How- 
ever, Pat  thinks  that  by  a  little 
coaxing  and  yielding  to  certain  con- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       357 

ditions  of  the  soil,  we  may  succeed. 
So  my  gardener  and  I,  armed  with 
baskets  and  two  sharp  trowels,  set 
out  for  a  wood  across  the  lake, 
where  maidenhair  fern  grows.  Be- 
fore leaving  home  we  filled  our 
baskets  with  flowers,  as  we  ex- 
pected to  pass  the  poorhouse.  Pat 
wanted  to  remember  his  old  friend, 
Hetty  Allen,  who  lives  there,  and 
I  desired  to  pay  a  compliment  to  an 
ancient  woman,  who  once  "  mis- 
took "  me  for  her  long-lost  daugh- 
ter. 

We  found  our  friends  well  and 
at  home,  as  usual.  Mrs.  Allen  took 
her  flowers  and  kissed  them  lov- 
ingly, but  did  not  remember  the 
giver.  Poor  soul,  her  mind  seems 
quite  gone;  but  she  still  preserves 
a  love  for  the  blessed  flowers.  The 
other  woman  was  not  so  pleased. 


358       A  Midsummer  Wooing^ 

She  said  flowers  were  well  enough, 
but  victuals  were  more  to  her  no- 
tion. Next  time  I  shall  take  her  a 
pastry  and  keep  my  blooms. 

We  found  the  ferns,  but  they 
were  hard  to  dig.  It  seemed  as  if 
they  really  resisted  being  torn  from 
their  woodland  home.  I  could  not 
blame  them,  for  it  was  a  lovely  spot. 
At  our  right  a  road  wound  through 
the  wood,  and  on  our  left  gurgled 
a  little  sylvan  stream.  Pat  thought 
he  had  better  dig  the  ferns;  so, 
after  a  few  refractory  struggles,  I 
desisted  and  proceeded  to  enjoy 
myself. 

It  took  him  a  long  time,  and  it 
was  growing  a  trifle  dusky  when, 
on  our  way  home,  we  reached  Mr. 
Brown's  domain.  A  little  way  back, 
I  had  stopped  to  watch  a  couple  of 
flickers  at  play  around  the  foot  of 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       359 

a  tall  chestnut  tree.  They  darted 
here  and  there,  showing  the  golden 
linings  to  their  wings  and  that 
bright  splash  of  scarlet  at  the  back 
of  each  head.  Such  fun  as  they 
were  having!  It  was  so  interesting 
to  watch  them;  but  at  last  I  tore 
myself  away,  for  I  remembered  that 
Pat  wanted  to  water  the  garden. 
As  we  climbed  the  fence  into  Mr. 
Brown's  large  field,  we  were  not 
prepared  for  the  sight  that  greeted 
us. 

Pat  saw  it  first. 

"  Begorra,"  he  cried ;  "  look,  look 
o'  thar,  Missus!" 

I  gazed  upward  and  beheld  a 
little  distance  above  us,  slowly  sail- 
ing through  the  air,  a  huge  balloon- 
like  thing  with  a  pair  of  flapping 
black  wings.  It  resembled  a  bird 
of  ill  omen  taking  its  laborious 


360       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

flight.  My  heart  seemed  to  stand 
still;  for  I  knew  at  once  it  was  Mr. 
Brown's  aeroplane. 

Pat  grew  quite  excited.  "  Be 
jabers,"  he  cried,  "  'tis  the  ould 
gintleman  and  his  flyin'-machine ! " 

A  long  thin  face,  topped  by  a 
rusty  silk  hat,  looked  down  at  us 
from  a  framework  of  wicker.  Truly, 
in  triumph,  Mr.  Brown  was  sailing 
around  his  own  lot.  He  rose  higher 
and  higher. 

Pat  threw  up  his  hat  and  yelled 
with  all  his  might.  This  little  old 
Irishman  was  growing  so  exuber- 
ant that  I  began  to  fear  for  him. 
"  Hoigh  thar,  hoigh  thar,"  he 
screamed;  "go  it,  Misther  Brown, 
go  it!" 

There  was  no  response.  Mr. 
Brown  was  apparently  very  busy 
with  his  machine.  Something 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       361 

seemed  to  trouble  him.  He  leaned 
far  out  and  caught  at  a  dangling 
rope,  but  missed  it.  I  heard  an 
ominous  crack;  then  the  airship 
began  to  fall  rapidly.  It  was  a 
moment  of  fearful  suspense. 

Pat  and  I  ran  toward  that  end 
of  the  field.  Surely,  Mr.  Brown 
had  lost  control  of  it,  for  the  huge 
affair  wobbled  fearfully,  and  was 
descending  directly  over  a  stone- 
pile.  It  came  down  with  a  thump. 
There  was  a  splintering  crash  and 
then  a  groan.  We  ran  the  faster, 
only  to  find  Mr.  Brown,  in  a  fearful 
tangle,  lying  unconscious  upon  the 
heap  of  stones. 

"  Be  jabers,  the  ould  gintleman 
has  lighted!"  cried  Pat;  but  he 
was  very  tender  as  he  extricated  the 
unconscious  man  and  with  my  help 
lifted  him  from  the  stones  and  laid 


362      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

him  upon  the  soft  grass.  I  ran  to 
a  near-by  stream  for  water  (carry- 
ing it  in  my  straw  hat),  which  I 
dashed  in  Mr.  Brown's  face  and 
presently  he  revived. 

"Is  the  machine  injured?"  he 
inquired,  faintly. 

'Tis  in  sphlinters,"  said  Pat, 
truthfully;  "  but  be  jabers,  Misther 
Brown,  'tis  glad  ye  ought  to  be  thot 
ye  are  not  kilt,  intoirely.  Pwhat 
sot  ye  up  to  fly?  'Twor  the  net- 
work pwhat  saved  ye." 

The  poor  old  gentleman  tried  to 
rise,  but  sank  back  with  a  groan. 

"  It  was  going  beautifully,"  he 
said,  "  when  something  snapped.  I 
fear  I  have  broken  my  leg." 

I  stayed  with  Mr.  Brown  and 
fanned  him  with  my  hat,  while  Pat 
hurried  to  the  house  for  help.  Pres- 
ently Priscilla  came  running  across 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       363 

the  fields  like  mad  —  poor  child,  she 
was  wild  with  terror. 

"  Oh,  he  is  not  dead,  Mrs.  El- 
liot !  "  she  cried.  "  I  could  not  bear 
it!" 

I  smiled  reassuringly.  "  No,  in- 
deed, he  is  not  dead.  He  has  only 
broken  his  leg." 

She  was  beside  her  father,  the 
young  face  close  to  his.  "  Oh, 
father,  father,  speak  to  me!"  she 
cried. 

Mr.  Brown  opened  his  eyes  and 
said  faintly:  "Don't  take  on  so, 
Priscilla.  I  am  not  badly  hurt;  it 
is  nothing  but  my  leg." 

"  But,  father,"  she  exclaimed  re- 
proachfully, "  why  did  you  not  tell 
me  you  were  going  to  try  the  air- 
ship? I  would  have  gone  with 
you." 

"That  was  just  the  reason,"  re- 


364      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

plied  Mr.  Brown,  "  I  did  not  tell 
you.  I  did  not  wish  you  to  accom- 
pany me,  Priscilla." 

The  poor  child  silently  wrung 
her  hands,  and  partly  to  quiet  her, 
I  bade  her  go  for  more  water.  I 
saw  that  Mr.  Brown  was  growing 
faint  again. 

By  the  time  she  was  back,  Pat 
and  Belinda  had  arrived,  bearing  a 
mattress  between  them.  We  laid 
Mr.  Brown  upon  it,  and  by  each 
taking  hold  of  a  corner  we  man- 
aged with  much  hard  work  to  bear 
him  safely  to  the  house.  He 
groaned  all  the  way,  and  poor  Pris- 
cilla's  tears  fell  like  rain. 

The  doctor  found  that  Mr.  Brown 
had  fractured  his  hip.  He  told  me 
it  would  be  many  months  before  the 
unfortunate  gentleman  could  hope 
to  walk  again;  perhaps  never. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      365 

Pat,  with  the  help  of  a  neighbour, 
gathered  up  the  broken  aeroplane 
and  piled  it  on  the  bench  in  the 
orchid  house,  its  battered  and  splin- 
tered wings  topping  the  debris. 

Lying  helpless  in  his  bed,  during 
intervals  from  pain,  Mr.  Brown 
built  airy  castles  of  how  he  should 
one  day  repair  the  machine  and  fly 
forth  in  triumph. 

You  may  say  what  you  please, 
but  it  is  a  good  thing  to  build  air- 
castles;  it  keeps  one's  mind  occu- 
pied, and  lifts  him  above  the  sordid 
things  of  earth. 


I  AM  THANKFUL 
FOR  A  CIRCUS 


xxrn 


RIGHT  and  early 
this  morning  I 
was  out  among 
my  Madonna  lil- 
ies. Who  would 
not  rise  early  when  such  a  sight  is 
awaiting  her?  There  they  stand, 
rank  on  rank,  pure  and  sweet  be- 
yond comparison.  They  remind  me 
of  the  hedge  in  the  spiritual  garden 
of  my  friend.  I  suppose  her  lilies 
are  finer  than  mine;  for  spiritual 
things,  Mr.  Pegleg  taught  me,  are 
real  and  far  beyond  the  material. 
He  said,  that  while  I  can  enjoy 

366 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      367 

flowers  here,  I  shall  enjoy  them  a 
thousand  times  more  in  the  next 
life.  Oh,  what  a  good  time  I  shall 
have !  for  it  does  seem  that  I  could 
never  be  happier  than  I  am  this 
morning  —  here,  among  my  own 
earthly  lilies.  I  smell  their  delight- 
ful fragrance,  and  am  so  glad  that 
I  planted  them  in  pure  faith.  The 
garden  was  not  mine  at  the  time, 
and  I  did  not  know  that  I  should 
ever  own  it;  but  did  this  deter  me 
from  placing  in  the  dark  earth  those 
wonderful  bulbs  that  now  bloom  to 
pleasure  me?  When  my  husband 
would  have  dissuaded,  I  was  firm. 
Surely  it  is  lack  of  faith  that  makes 
us  lose  so  many  good  things  in  life. 
I  was  still  among  my  lilies  when 
Araminta  Sprangleberry  brought 
me  two  letters  which  she  had  found 
in  the  post-box.  One  was  from 


368       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


dear  Aunt  Matilda,  expressing  her 
joy  over  the  death  of  the  bull  and 
saying  that  I  should  keep  the  hun- 
dred dollars.  I  do  hope  her  gout  is 
not  worse,  she  seems  so  sweet  and 
generous.  The  other  letter  was 
from  Donald  Warren.  He  said  he 
was  delighted  to  hear  how  fast  the 
scarlet  creepers  had  grown;  and 
that  he  hoped  soon  to  pay  me  the 
promised  visit. 

I  lingered  a  little  longer  in  the 
lily  patch,  then  went  to  view  my 
morning-glories.  Did  you  ever 
have  an  old  building  covered  with 
morning-glories,  and  get  up  some 
morning  to  behold  thousands  of 
brightly  tinted  blooms  shining  in 
the  sun?  It  is  a  sight!  I  don't  see 
how  one  can  live  without  a  garden 
and  morning-glories. 

I  do  not  feel  just  the  same  toward 


Jd 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       369 

the  morning-glories  as  I  do  toward 
the  lilies.  I  reverence  the  lilies; 
but  I  revel  in  the  morning-glories. 
Their  gayety  excites  me.  I  feel  like 
a  primitive  Methodist;  I  want  to 
shout.  After  I  had  looked  my  fill 
I  went  to  the  sweet-pease  patch. 
Sweet  pease  are  undoubtedly  the 
most  satisfactory  flowers  grown. 
Mine  have  been  unusually  fine  this 
year.  Every  day  I  pick  and  pick 
them;  and  the  next  morning,  lo, 
hundreds  of  little  airships,  anchored 
to  green  tendrils,  are  ready  to  greet 
me.  They  must  come  out  in  the 
night.  I  find  the  hollyhocks  with 
bees  buzzing  in  their  silken  frocks. 
How  tall  they  are  grown;  and  oh, 
how  rich  the  colours,  from  deepest, 
darkest  crimson  to  faintest  pink, 
vivid  scarlet,  creamy  yellow  and 
pure  white!  I  must  extend  my 


370       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

hedge  of  hollyhocks;  for  who  can 
have  enough  of  these  rich,  old- 
fashioned  flowers?  Yonder,  is  my 
bed  of  golden  stock,  a  cheerful  blaze 
glowing  in  the  sun;  and  a  little 
farther  on  is  the  tinted  stock.  I 
love  stock,  and  I  love  larkspur,  too ; 
and,  yes,  even  cockscomb,  though 
this  last  is  so  bold  and  flaunting, 
without  a  particle  of  grace.  I  love 
it  for  its  gorgeous  velvety  crimson, 
that  reminds  me  of  a  king's  royal 
robe.  Prince's  feather  is  not  so 
bad. 

By  and  by  I  come  to  the  old- 
fashioned  garden.  Here  the  sweet- 
williams  are  still  in  bloom  (rather 
late  this  year,  owing  to  the  plant- 
ing), gay  courtiers  in  the  realm  of 
flowers.  Grandmother  loved  sweet- 
williams.  I  pick  a  bunch  of  them 
to  put  in  my  basket;  then  I  pause 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       371 

to  look  down  the  straight  borders 
of  box.  I  am  thinking  of  a  sun-dial. 
It  must  be  in  the  old-fashioned  gar- 
den, to  be  sure,  and  on  that  stretch 
of  open  lawn  where  the  sun  can  spy 
it  all  day  long.  I  shall  plant  a  crim- 
son rose  to  twine  about  the  gray- 
ness  of  its  stone  pedestal.  How  I 
need  a  sun-dial;  I  wonder  that  I 
have  lived  so  long  without  one! 
But  how  much  will  a  sun-dial 
cost? 

I  remember  the  hundred  dollars 
that  my  blessed  Aunt  Matilda  has 
forced  me  to  accept.  Why  not 
gratify  this  heart's  desire?  Still, 
there  are  reasons:  the  Browns  will 
have  a  frightful  doctor's  bill  to  pay. 
The  hens  must  do  their  best;  and 
even  then,  I  doubt  their  ability  to 
lay  eggs  enough  to  liquidate  it.  I 
sat  down  on  the  grass  to  make  a 


372       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

few  mental  calculations :  if  the  doc- 
tor came  so  many  times  and  re- 
ceived so  much  a  visit,  and  the  hens 
laid  so  many  eggs  at  so  much  a 
dozen,  —  how  much?  —  here  I  got 
tangled  and  had  to  begin  over 
again.  I  do  wish  I  had  paid  more 
attention  to  the  science  of  mathe- 
matics while  in  school. 

I  was  struggling  hard,  when  I 
looked  up  and  beheld  my  little 
neighbour;  she  who  mixes  molasses 
and  soda  and  takes  it  for  cod-liver 
oil.  She  had  on  a  pretty  pink  print 
dress  and  her  brown  eyes  were 
shining.  "  Tell  me,"  I  cried,  "  how 
many  eggs  can  a  hen  lay  in  a 
week?" 

"  Seven,"  she  replied,  "  providing 
she  does  not  observe  Sunday." 

"  Belinda  has  a  hundred  hens," 
I  exclaimed  with  satisfaction ;  "  that 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       373 

makes  seven  hundred  eggs  a  week. 
It  should  do  it." 

"  But  hens  don't  lay  an  egg  every 
day,"  she  remarked. 

"  They  ought  to,"  I  said  re- 
proachfully. "  It's  their  business;  " 
then  I  realized  that  I  had  not 
greeted  her.  The  problem  could 
wait. 

"  Oh,"  I  said  joyfully,  "  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you.  How  pretty  your 
frock  is!  Why,  you  are  as  gay  as 
my  posies." 

"Am  I?"  she  said  smiling. 
"  Well,  I  feel  gay.  For  one  day  a 
great  load  is  off  my  mind.  I  shall 
not  have  to  cook.  There  is  a  cir- 
cus at  Zanesville;  my  husband  has 
gone  and  taken  all  the  children." 

"  The  Lord  is  merciful,"  I  cried. 
"  You  shall  stay  with  me.  We  will 
put  in  such  a  day !  " 


374       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

11 1  want  to  see.  the  lilies  first," 
she  said. 

"Come  along,  dear;"  and  we 
went  down  the  path  toward  the 
lilies.  When  I  saw  her  walking 
among  them  I  could  not  hide  my 
tears.  She  put  her  face  close  to 
their  white  cups,  and  I  know  she 
blessed  them.  Suddenly  she  turned 
and  looked  at  me.  '  What  are  you 
crying  about?  "  she  asked. 

I  did  not  answer  her  but  ran 
away.  I  am  not  usually  so  foolish, 
but  this  time  I  hid  myself  behind 
a  great  clump  of  golden-glows  and 
had  it  out.  If  you  ever  feel  a  lump 
in  your  throat,  why,  just  go  and 
look  at  something  yellow;  for  yel- 
low is  a  very  material  colour  and  it 
resembles  good  healthy  sunshine. 

Soon  I  dried  my  tears  by  con- 
soling myself  in  this  fashion :  What 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      375 

was  to  hinder  me  from  buying  a 
quantity  of  bulbs  and  making  just 
such  a  lily  patch  for  my  little  neigh- 
bour? I  knew  a  real  nice  spot  in 
her  garden  suitable  for  it.  What 
would  she  say  when  she  had  lilies 
of  her  own?  I  revelled  in  the 
thought.  As  for  the  Browns'  doc- 
tor bill  —  well,  I  must  pray  that 
the  hens  grow  prolific,  and  to  help 
the  matter  along,  send  Belinda  all 
my  dried  sunflower  seeds.  Surely, 
I  had  read  that  a  diet  of  sunflower 
seeds  persuaded  hens  to  lay. 

When  I  returned  to  my  visitor 
my  face  was  smiling  and  I  carried 
a  great  cluster  of  golden-glows. 

"Here's  gold  for  you!"  I  cried; 
then  ran  into  the  house  to  Rhoda. 

"Rhoda,"  I  said,  "I  have  com- 
pany, and  I  want  you  to  get  up  the 
best  luncheon  you  can  think  of. 


376       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Set  the  table  under  the  honey- 
suckle on  the  porch  and  fix  it  up 
fine.  You  know  how,  Rhoda." 

My  cook  smiled,  displaying  her 
white,  white  teeth,  and  behind  her 
stood  Araminta  showing  an  equally 
immaculate  set  of  ivories. 

"  I'll  jes'  do  my  best,  Missus," 
said  Rhoda,  and  I  knew  what  that 
meant. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  good  an- 
gels ?  "  I  asked  my  neighbour  a  lit- 
tle later. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  she  said  sadly. 

"Oh,  but  you  ought  to,"  I  con- 
tinued. "Why  not  believe  in  good? 
I  know  you  believe  in  evil." 

'Who  can  help  but  believe  in 
evil?  "  she  sighed. 

'  You  can,"  I  remarked,  stoutly. 

'  There  is  just  as  much  good  in  the 

world   as    there   is    evil;    more,   I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing     377 

think.  Now,  if  you  believed  in  the 
good  as  steadfastly  as  you  do  in  the 
evil,  why  things  would  get  better. 
I  truly  trust  in  good  angels.  I  can 
feel  them  all  around  me,  helping  me 
out  of  every  difficulty.  They  would 
go  away  if  I  did  not  trust  them.  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  look  so  sad  when 
you  see  my  flowers.  They  do  not 
bloom  to  make  one  weep;  but  to 
make  one  glad  —  from  the  very 
crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of 
his  feet." 

She  sighed.  "  They  do  make  me 
glad,  and  yet  —  " 

"  I  know/'  I  said,  "  you  have  had 
a  hard  life." 

My  little  neighbour  looked  away 
for  a  moment,  then  she  turned  her 
eyes  toward  me. 

"  I  am  going  to  confess  to  you," 
she  said.  "  Do  you  know  that  I  am 


378       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

a  wretched  coward?  I  am  afraid  of 
everything  in  this  world.  I'm  afraid 
of  sickness ;  I'm  afraid  of  accidents ; 
I'm  afraid  of  death;  I'm  afraid  of 
tramps.  Every  time  the  door-bell 
rings  I'm  afraid  it's  a  telegram  tell- 
ing me  some  of  my  friends  are  dead. 
If  my  husband  does  not  return 
home  from  the  field  the  moment  I 
think  he  ought  to,  I'm  afraid  some- 
thing dreadful  has  happened  to  him. 
I'm  afraid  the  children  will  fall 
down  the  well,  or  a  haystack  tumble 
on  them,  or  a  mad  dog  will  bite 
them.  I  am  afraid  to  have  them 
swim  and  I  am  afraid  to  have  them 
skate,  for  the  same  reason.  I'm 
afraid  of  guns.  I  never  pass  my 
husband's  rifle  in  its  rack  in  the  hall, 
but  I  shiver  all  over.  I  am  a  perfect 
bundle  of  fears;  and  I  worry  day 
and  night.  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       379 

to  confess  myself  such  a  weak, 
good-for-nothing  creature;  but  I 
know  you  will  not  laugh  at  me. 
Oh,  how  I  do  wish  I  could  trust 
God  and  have  a  little  peace !  " 

All  her  pretty  brightness  had 
passed  away;  she  looked  dreadfully 
careworn. 

It  has  been  said  that  one  might 
as  well  bid  the  wind  not  to  blow  as 
to  ask  a  woman  to  stop  worrying; 
and  when  one  has  six  children,  and 
a  husband  who  is  "  a  little  near," 
as  Peggotty  declared  her  husband 
to  be  in  "  David  Copperfield,"  what 
advice  can  one  give? 

I  hate  advice;  it  is  a  mixed-up 
dose  that  no  one  likes.  There  is 
such  a  pinch  of  self-assurance  in  it, 
that  while  it  makes  the  giver  feel 
very  virtuous,  it  has  exactly  the 
opposite  effect  upon  the  taker. 


380       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

My  friend  plucked  my  sleeve. 
"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked,  in 
almost  childlike  eagerness. 

"Oh,"  I  replied,  "if  I  were  in 
your  place  I  should  take  a  bigger 
dose  of  the  garden.  I  should  con- 
sider my  nerves  in  such  a  state  that 
I  could  afford  to  wink  a  little  at 
household  disorder.  I  should  be 
very  vigorous  with  the  hoe  and  the 
rake,  and  rather  weakly  with  the 
broom  and  the  mop.  One  can't 
worry  much  in  a  garden;  for  our 
green  babies  are  so  comforting. 
What  you  need,  my  poor  little 
worn-out  friend,  is  a  lily  patch,  and 
you  are  going  to  have  one.  Come 
now,  we  have  just  time  before 
luncheon  to  walk  up  to  that  grave- 
yard yonder.  I  want  to  see  if  the 
wild  rose  that  I  planted  on  Mr.  Peg- 
leg's  grave  needs  water.  I  will  take 


T/ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       381 

a  pail  along,  as  there  is  a  spring  in 
the  lane." 

It  was  one  of  those  glorious, 
breezy  days,  when  the  wind  whips 
your  hair  and  tingles  on  your 
cheeks.  We  climbed  the  fence  into 
my  field,  and  of  course  I  had  to  ex- 
plain to  my  little  neighbour  just 
how  I  intended  to  glorify  this  spot 
of  earth.  She  seemed  very  much 
interested,  which  was  truly  pleas- 
ing to  a  garden  woman. 

I  love  the  peace  of  a  little  coun- 
try graveyard.  "  Lonely,"  did  you 
say?  Why,  who  can  be  lonely 
where  there  are  trees  and  grass  and 
birds  and  sunshine? 

The  wild  rose  needed  water,  as 
it  had  not  rained  for  several  days. 
I  fetched  two  pailfuls  from  the 
spring  and  emptied  them  gently 
about  the  roots.  I  know  the  rose 


382       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

felt  refreshed.     Then  we  sat  down 
beside  the  grave. 

"  You  loved  your  friend  very 
much?"  said  my  neighbour. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "  and  I  am 
just  thinking  how  he  is  enjoying 
himself." 

'  What    do    you    suppose    he   is 
doing?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  making  a  splendid  gar- 
den, to  be  sure.  He  loved  flowers 
here  and  of  course  he  loves  them 
there.  He  once  promised  to  lay  out 
a  beautiful  violet  bed  for  me,  when 
he  passed  over;  but  I  told  him  not 
to  be  in  any  hurry  about  it,  for  I 
was  well  satisfied  with  this  earth. 
Mr.  Pegleg  was  not  afraid  to  die; 
he  was  not  afraid  of  anything." 

"  I  wonder  why  not?  "  she  said. 

"  Because,"  I  replied,  "  he  truly 
believed  in  another  world.  He 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       383 

didn't  just  think  there  might  be  one, 
he  knew  it.  Too  many  of  us  think 
there  may  be  a  God  and  there  may 
be  another  world  —  we  are  not  at 
all  sure;  but  Mr.  Pegleg  was  settled 
in  his  faith,  and  he  declared  there 
was  a  law  by  which  one  might 
prove  this  blessedness  of  a  life  be- 
yond. 

"  He  thought  we  have  a  right  to 
happiness  and  joy,  even  on  this 
earth.  Oh,  how  he  glorified  life  — 
my  dear  old  friend !  I  wish  he  could 
have  told  you  about  the  border- 
land, where  our  friends  (that  have 
passed  over)  wait  to  welcome  us. 
He  said  it  is  not  so  far  away. 

"  He  never  spoke  of  death  as  go- 
ing down  to  the  grave,  but  rather 
as  going  up  to  the  grave;  and  listen, 
dear,  Mr.  Pegleg  had  a  little  sweet- 
heart who  died  years  and  years  ago. 


384       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Do  you  know,"  I  bent  close  to  her 
and  spoke  low,  "  he  saw  her  wan- 
dering among  my  roses  a  week  be- 
fore he  died.  I  feel  that  she  came 
with  the  angel  of  death  and  led  him 
away.  Now,  little  neighbour,  if 
there  is  another  world  not  so  far 
off,  blessed  and  sweet,  awaiting  us, 
why  so  afraid  of  transition?  If 
good  spirits  return  to  earth,  why 
cannot  they  guard  and  keep  us? 
Only,  we  must  learn  to  trust  them 
a  little. 

"  So  many  people  scoff  at  Mr. 
Pegleg's  belief;  but  I  —  I  have 
found  it  very  sweet  and  more  com- 
forting than  all  the  unbeliefs  in  the 
world.  I  am  going  to  try  to  live  up 
to  it.  It  does  not  fret  me  to  look  at 
this  long,  narrow  grave,  for  I  know 
my  friend  is  not  there." 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  believe  that 


X' 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       385 

God  really  loves  me,"  said  my  little 
neighbour. 

!( If  you  cannot  believe  that  God 
loves  you,"  I  said,  "why,  just  be- 
lieve there  is  some  one  over  in  the 
border-land  that  loves  you.  •  Have 
you  no  friend  there  ?  " 

"  My  father,"  she  said,  simply. 

'  Then  every  day  think  of  him. 
Believe  that  he  can  come  to  you  and 
protect  you.  Let  go  a  little  of 
worry  and  fear;  remember  your 
garden.  Now  it  is  time  to  go 
home." 

Rhoda  is  a  born  artist  as  well  as 
a  cook.  The  table  was  exquisite  — 
laid  with  a  snowy  cloth  and  strewn 
with  clove  pinks  of  every  shade  and 
spicy  as  the  island  of  Ceylon.  She 
served  us  with  clear  soup,  fragrant 
as  the  mint  bed;  chicken  croquettes 
and  creamed  potatoes.  A  cucumber 


386      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

salad  garnished  with  spicy  nastur- 
tium seeds  and  a  syllabub  (this  last 
was  Rhoda's  triumph) ;  then  little 
squares  of  cocoanut  cake  with  red 
raspberries  and  cream.  My  dear 
cook!  I  must  feel  her  pulse  often, 
for  how  much  her  health  means  to 
me!  I  wished,  as  we  sat  there,  that 
my  little  neighbour  might  have 
such  dainty  food  served  to  her  every 
day.  As  I  gazed  at  her  thin,  flower- 
like  face,  I  thought  how  beautiful 
she  might  become  if  she  only  dared 
to  enjoy  herself.  How  lovely  it 
would  be  if  some  fairy  prince  should 
suddenly  endow  her  with  faith  in 
good  angels:  then  unseen  doors 
would  open  to  her;  her  burdens 
would  drop  away;  her  life  become 
glorified.  It  is  too  bad  that  so 
many  women  are  slaves  to  their 
environments. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      387 

I  whispered  to  Araminta  Spran- 
gleberry  to  fetch  my  friend's  dish 
that  I  might  heap  it  again  with  red 
raspberries.  These  red  raspberries 
picked  at  dawn,  how  fresh  and 
plump  they  are !  Every  berry  seems 
to  stand  by  itself,  helping  to  form 
a  little  crimson  pyramid  over  which 
I  dust  snowy  sugar  and  pour  good, 
rich  Jersey  cream.  It  is  a  pity 
everybody  cannot  live  in  the  coun- 
try at  least  once  in  his  life,  if  only 
to  taste  red  raspberries,  picked  at 
dawn.  Araminta  is  very  nimble  in 
waiting  at  table;  so  much  her  aunt 
has  taught  her.  Now,  if  that  aunt 
could  only  teach  her  not  to  stand 
on  her  head ;  not  to  pull  up  the  rad- 
ishes and  the  little  onions;  not  to 
make  up  sly  faces  at  Pat;  not  to 
torment  my  poor  rooster  and  his 
hen ;  why  then,  I  should  have  hopes 


388      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

of  her.    She  might  in  time  become 
a  very  satisfactory  servant. 

About  six  o'clock  the  circus-go- 
ing people  began  to  return.  Mr. 
Floyd,  my  friend's  husband,  drove 
by  with  six  children,  looking  fagged 
and  cross.  My  little  neighbour  did 
not  happen  to  see  him,  as  she  was 
engaged  in  peeking  at  the  bird 
house  and  listening  to  the  song  of 
that  indefatigable  Jenny  Wren.  I 
said  nothing,  for  I  thought  Mr. 
Floyd  would  not  be  the  worse  for 
a  little  discipline.  It  would  do  him 
good  to  feel  a  little  wholesome  lone- 
liness for  his  spouse.  When,  pres- 
ently, she  insisted  upon  going  home, 
I  remembered  that  I  had  not  picked 
her  any  flowers.  I  found  the  big- 
gest basket  the  house  afforded  and 
insisted  upon  filling  it;  then  I  sug- 
gested that  I  row  her  across  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      389 

lake.     "  It  is  easier  than  walking 
home  by  the  road,"  I  said. 

She  demurred,  but  her  eyes  were 
shining  when  I  half  pushed  her  into 
the  boat.  It  was  a  still  evening  on 
the  lake.  We  rowed  across  a  per- 
fect mirror  whose  surface  had  be- 
come invisible;  our  light  bark 
seemed  poised  between  two  worlds. 
A  wood -thrush  was  chanting  his 
angelic  song  in  the  edge  of  the 
grove.  As  he  suddenly  flew  away 
I  caught  his  moving  shadow  in  the 
water.  It  was  as  if  I  beheld  his 
spirit.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to 
cross  the  lake.  I  was  in  no  hurry 
and  I  knew  it  would  do  my  friend 
good  to  sit  still  and  drink  in  the 
glory  of  God.  I  hoped  by  the  time 
she  reached  home,  Mr.  Floyd  would 
have  the  supper  over  and  the  six 
children  put  to  bed.  I  could  im- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


agme  his  temper,  but  that  did  not 
disturb  me. 

At  last  we  reached  the  landing 
and  I  kissed  her  good  night. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  have  had 
such  a  day!  " 

"  I  thank  God,"  I  said,  "  for  that 


I  FALL  ASLEEP 
AND  REGRET  IT 


XXIV 


'HY  say  there  are 
no  good  things 
in  life?  Of  course 
there  are  no  good 
things  for  people 
who  will  not  see  them  or  search  for 
them.  The  great  faithful  earth  is 
a  good  gift  to  every  soul  who  has 
eyes  and  ears  to  appreciate  it.  Man 
is  the  only  creature  that  really 
shows  discontent  and  rails  against 
his  creator. 

Some  Sundays  I  prefer  to  go  to 
church  out-of-doors,  when  the  sky 
is  turquoise  blue  and  the  clouds  like 

891 


392       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

great  banks  of  snow;  when  the 
leaves  of  the  beech  are  so  divinely 
green,  and  my  lady,  White  Birch, 
gleams  across  the  lake  from  the 
edge  of  the  wood.  If  it  is  not  too 
hot,  there  is  generally  a  concert  in 
the  grove.  It  was  just  such  a  Sun- 
day morning  when  I  started  forth 
to  hear  Mr.  Simmons  preach.  It  is 
nearer  to  row  across  the  lake.  Max 
was  stretched  lazily  in  the  ham- 
mock and  could  not  be  persuaded. 
He  is  such  a  cheerful,  irresponsible 
sinner  that  I  gave  him  up  and 
started  alone.  When  I  got  out  on 
the  lake,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I 
would  not  go  to  church,  either.  Of 
course  I  knew  I  ought  to  go,  and 
that  my  soul  needed  looking  after; 
but  it  was  such  a  joyous,  glorious 
day  that  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  four  walls. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       393 

So  I  stayed  out  and  did  a  very 
wrong  thing.  I  rowed  about  the 
lake  for  a  long  time,  peeping  into 
every  little  cove.  Once,  I  started 
up  a  company  of  tip-ups ;  and  again 
I  disturbed  the  pious  meditations  of 
a  crane.  He  dropped  his  other  leg 
and  quickly  vanished  in  the  reeds. 
I  watched  some  water-skaters  that 
had  no  respect  for  the  Sabbath ;  and 
some  beetles  that  appeared  to  be 
dancing  the  lancers.  I  rowed  to  the 
cranberry  bay  and  picked  a  few  late 
blossoms.  When  the  concert  in  the 
grove  began  I  slipped  into  the 
warm  brown  shadow  —  cast  by  a 
tall  buttonwood  —  and  listened. 

It  was  a  fine  concert.  Brown 
thrashers  and  wood-thrushes,  cat- 
birds and  robins,  orioles  and  war- 
blers, all  seemed  to  take  part.  I 
suppose  each  one  was  singing  his 


394       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


own  hymn;  but  somehow  it  all 
blended  together  into  one  glorious 
paean  of  praise. 

In  slight  pauses  in  the  music,  the 
bobolink's  cheerful  strain  came 
from  the  fields,  mingled  with  the 
long,  sweet  notes  of  the  meadow- 
lark;  and  once,  a  loon  laughed 
rudely,  as  if  in  wild  derision. 

When  the  concert  was  all  over  I 
rowed  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
lake.  Here  I  shipped  my  oars,  for 
a  great  desire  had  come  to  me  to 
lie  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat 
and  gaze  up  into  the  deep  blue  sky. 
I  carefully  slid  back  the  middle 
seat,  and  taking  my  light  coat  for 
a  pillow  proceeded  to  make  myself 
very  comfortable.  Did  you  ever 
try  it?  Oh,  how  blue  the  sky  was 
and  how  diaphanous!  One  could 
look  into  the  depths  for  miles. 


-,-' 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       395 

There  was  a  great  bank  of  idle 
clouds  that  floated  so  lazily  across 
the  zenith.  Would  it  ever  get 
anywhere,  I  wondered.  I  watched 
and  watched  it,  until  my  eyelids 
quivered  and  finally  closed,  —  I 
slept. 

I  dare  not  say  how  long  I  slept, 
for  I  have  a  good  conscience  and 
am  not  easily  awakened.  I  was 
just  indulging  in  a  beautiful  dream, 
when  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  boat  and 
heard  a  voice  crying,  "  Thank  God 
she's  here ! " 

I  opened  my  eyes  and  saw  Max. 
His  face  was  white  from  fear;  then 
I  raised  up  and  discovered  that  he 
was  seated  in  Mr.  Spear's  boat. 
Mr.  Spear  was  rowing. 

"Judith  Elliot!"  exclaimed  my 
husband;  then  he  remembered  our 
neighbour.  "If  you  will  row  up 


396       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

a  trifle  closer,  Mr.  Spear,  I  will  step 
into  my  wife's  boat.  Now  that  she 
is  safe  I  need  not  trouble  you  any 
longer.  I  feel  greatly  obliged  to 
you." 

"  Ye're  welcome,"  said  Mr.  Spear, 
"  an*  I'm  mighty  glad  Mrs.  Elliot 
ain't  drownded  arter  all." 

'  Who  thought  I  was  drowned?  " 
I  asked. 

"I,"  replied  Max  sternly.  "It 
was  long  past  church  time  and  you 
did  not  come  home;  then  I  discov- 
ered the  boat,  apparently  empty,  in 
the  middle  of  the  lake.  What  else 
was  I  to  think?" 

I  made  no  reply.  It  was  one  of 
those  times  when  silence  is  golden. 
Mr.  Spear  rowed  away  and  then  the 
storm  broke. 

"  I  say,  Judith  Elliot,"  cried  my 
husband,  "you  are  the  most  exas- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       397 

perating  creature  alive!  Oh,  if  you 
had  been  drowned!  I  shudder  to 
think  of  it.  You  appear  to  be 
wholly  irresponsible.  The  fear  you 
have  caused  me!  Have  you  no 
heart  —  no  thought  for  others? 
What  if  I  had  lost  you!" 

"  But  you  have  not  lost  me/'  I 
said,  cheerfully.  "  I  know  it  was 
a  shame,  and  I  am  so  sorry  that 
I  fell  asleep;  but  you  see,  well,  it 
just  happened  so." 

"  Happened  so,"  sneered  my  hus- 
band. "  You  never  thought  of  me." 

"  No,  dear,"  I  said  truthfully,  "  I 
was  thinking  of  the  sky  and  how 
beautiful  the  world  is;  how  gently 
my  boat  rocked;  and  then,  —  but 
why  say  more?  I  really  didn't  in- 
tend to  sleep  more  than  a  couple  of 
minutes." 

"And  extended  the  time  to  two 


398       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

hours,"  groaned  Max.  "  Oh,  Ju- 
dith, Judith!" 

I  cannot  tell  which  was  the 
stronger  desire  in  my  husband's 
breast,  to  fold  me  in  his  arms  in  a 
thankful  embrace,  or  to  give  me  a 
good  shaking.  I  knew  I  deserved 
the  shaking;  but  I  thought  of  Mr. 
Pegleg's  words :  "  Always  meet 
petulance  with  kindness,"  and  tried 
to  divert  Max.  I  pointed  out  to 
him  how  handsome  the  bole  to  yon- 
der beech-tree  looked ;  what  a  deli- 
cate flavour  of  green  was  blended 
into  the  soft  grays.  I  showed  him 
a  solitary  white  birch  standing  like 
a  delicate  lady  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood;  but  he  would  not  be  be- 
guiled, and  I  began  to  feel  my  dis- 
grace. 

At  last  he  spoke:  "  If  I  live  until 
to-morrow  I  shall  buy  another  boat, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      399 

then  I  can  come  after  you.    I  had 
to  run  a  mile  to  find  Mr.  Spear." 

"  Poor  boy,"  I  said  tenderly;  still 
I  felt  a  little  uneasy  about  that 
boat;  then  it  would  be  so  handy 
for  Max  to  find  me  if  company 
came  that  I  did  not  care  to  see;  or 
if  he  thought  I  was  watching  a 
sunset  too  long. 

"It  will  cost  a  good  deal  of 
money,"  I  demurred. 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  said  savagely. 
"  You  have  got  to  be  looked  after." 

"  Do  you  really  love  me,  Max?  " 
I  asked  softly. 

"  Love  you?  "  he  cried,  "  you  are 
my  heart's  desire!  Oh,  Judith,  I 
could  not  live  without  you." 

"  And  still,  it  is  so  difficult  to  live 
with  me,"  I  remarked  musingly. 

He  helped  me  from  the  boat  to 
our  landing;  then  caught  me  to  his 


400       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


heart.  I  am  sure  he  felt  very  grate- 
ful that  I  was  spared  to  him.  Is 
it  not  strange,  one  so  values  a  treas- 
ure the  moment  he  fears  he  has 
lost  it?  I  felt  that,  though  Max 
should  still  harbour  anger  in  his 
heart  toward  me,  a  sweet  reconcili- 
ation was  not  far  off. 

I  ran  into  the  house,  up  to  my 
room,  and  donned  my  most  fetch- 
ing gown,  a  white  mull.  I  pinned 
at  my  breast  some  pale  pink  roses, 
and  fastened  one  in  the  puff  to  my 
hair.  I  was  not  ill-looking,  I  saw 
for  myself.  I  was  of  a  wholesome 
brown  shade,  and  health  shone  in 
my  eyes  and  reddened  my  cheeks. 
I  looked  the  out-of-door  creature 
that  I  am,  no  better  and  no  worse, 
a  sort  of  kin  to  a  hardy  shrub. 

I  went  down  to  our  Sunday  din- 
ner, and  tried  to  be  agreeable.  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      401 


inquired  of  Max,  if  he  had  had 
any  abnormal  vegetables  to  report 
lately,  —  such  as  the  biggest  beet 
or  a  mammoth  head  of  cabbage.  I 
told  him  that  Pat  was  raising  a 
very  reputable  squash  which  he  in- 
tended weighing  in  the  fall;  but 
Max  remained  silent,  and  I  was 
almost  afraid  of  an  attack  of  dys- 
pepsia from  general  low  spirits. 

After  dinner  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sim- 
mons came  to  call  on  us.  They 
said  that  they  were  walking  and 
had  strolled  so  far  in  our  direction, 
that  it  seemed  a  pity  not  to  take  a 
peep  into  my  "earthly  paradise." 
Max  brightened  when  we  saw  Mrs. 
Simmons.  I  knew  they  would  re- 
new their  talk  concerning  editors 
and  it  pleased  me  to  think  it;  for 
I  wanted  to  confess  to  the  minis- 
ter. A  few  minutes  later,  I  had 


402       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

beguiled  him  to  one  side,  ostensibly 
to  look  at  my  larkspur,  but  really 
to  tell  him  the  reason  I  was  not 
at  church  that  morning.  I  owned 
that  I  had  wickedly  frightened  my 
husband. 

He  laughed.  I  think  he  is  the 
most  unministerial  minister  I  ever 
met. 

"  I  can  sympathize  with  you/'  he 
said.  "  When  I  was  a  small  boy  I 
used  to  run  away  from  school.  I 
could  not  see  the  use  of  poring  over 
books,  just  to  learn  about  people 
that  were  dead  and  gone;  and  I 
could  not  see  what  difference  it 
made  if  a  word  were  now  and  then 
misspelled;  but  I  did  want  to  know 
the  woods  and  to  revel  in  the  car- 
nivals of  nature.  The  great  whole- 
some out-of-doors  called  to  me  with 
a  hundred  alluring  voices;  and  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      403 

responded,  in  spite  of  the  stout 
birch  stick  that  hung  above  the 
teacher's  desk. 

"  One  day  I  found  an  old  log 
punt  near  the  edge  of  a  pond.  No 
one  seemed  to  own  it;  I  imagined 
it  belonged  to  the  pond,  so  I  rowed 
out  in  it.  Then  I  did  just  what  you 
did;  I  lay  down  in  the  bottom  of 
my  rude  craft  to  watch  the  sky,  and 
fell  asleep. 

"My  father  and  a  few  frantic 
neighbours  found  me.  No  one  un- 
derstood my  sympathy  with  na- 
ture, so  I  got  flogged  twice;  first 
by  my  irate  father,  and  again  by 
the  stern  old  schoolmaster. 

"  Did  it  teach  me  a  lesson?  No; 
I  am  just  as  foolish  yet,  —  just  as 
fond  of  nature.  You  can't  flog  that 
love  out  of  any  human  creature." 

It  made  me  feel  very  happy  to 


404       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

think  the  minister  did  not  condemn 
me.  I  grew  quite  cheerful,  and 
showed  him  my  poppy  garden.  Is 
there  anything  in  the  world  more 
silken  and  beautiful  than  a  poppy 
on  its  gray  green  stem?  "Joan 
Silver  Pin "  was  a  queer  name 
given  it  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time; 
and  I  imagine  it  was  so  called  be- 
cause when  its  silken  drapery  falls 
there  is  the  stout  silvery  knub  left, 
and  long  stem.  Poppies  are  not 
flowers  to  pick;  they  are  to  look  at, 
to  dream  over.  Every  shade  was 
here,  from  darkest  red  to  snowy 
white,  that  wonderful  white  in 
which  blue  shadows  lurk.  I  love 
poppies  and  so  does  the  minister. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  asked, 
"  that  sweet  little  cradle  song  by 
Eugene  Field?  This  is  the  first 
verse : 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      405 

'"The    Rock-a-by    Lady    from    Hush-a-by 
Street 

Comes  stealing;   comes  creeping; 
The  poppies  they  hang  from  her  head  to  her 

feet, 

And  each  hath  a  dream  that  is  tiny  and  fleet  — 
She  bringeth  her  poppies  to  you,  my  sweet, 
When  she  findeth  you  sleeping.'  " 

"Ah,  yes,"  I  replied;  "and  it 
makes  one  sleepy  just  to  hear  it." 

Our  guests  lingered  until  dusk; 
then  set  out  across  the  fields  for 
home.  I  watched  them;  he  so  tall 
and  stately,  she  so  slight  and  frag- 
ile. Presently  his  arm  stole  pro- 
tectingly  around  her.  Above  them, 
birds  were  flying  on  eager  wings 
to  soft  home  nests;  a  sweet  con- 
tentment claimed  the  land.  I 
thought  on  the  minister  and  his 
wife.  How  simple  they  were  and 
yet  how  true!  Their  hearts  were 


406       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

free  from  envy  and  malice;  they 
coveted  not,  but  rejoiced  in  love. 
Oh,  how  much  to  be  desired  is  such 
a  life!  Its  ways  are  ways  of  pleas- 
antness;  its  paths  are  paths  of 
peace. 

The  moonlight  was  flooding  us 
when  we  turned  toward  the  garden. 

Max  would  not  go  far.  He  drew 
me  into  the  little  summer-house 
built  just  for  two.  Here,  sitting 
close  together  on  the  wooden  bench, 
gazing  through  the  archway  at  the 
now  vague  colours  of  the  poppy 
bed,  a  sweet  reconciliation  was  en- 
compassed. 


THE   PROPOSAL 

IN  MY          XXV 
SUMMER-HOUSE 


.  3ROWN     is 

somewhat  im- 
proved.  For 
weeks  he  has 
lain  helpless,  but 
now  he  can  be  raised  in  bed.  Be- 
linda tends  him  afternoons,  while 
her  mistress  takes  the  air. 

I  often  join  Priscilla  Brown  in 
her  walks.  We  have  grown  to  be 
great  friends.  The  girl  has  opened 
her  heart  to  me,  and  as  I  gaze  into 
its  virgin  depths,  I  discover  that 
there  is  hope  for  Donald  Warren. 
To-morrow,  this  plant-loving 

407 


•yt 


408      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

young  man  comes  to  visit  me.  He 
has  been  delayed  by  the  death  of 
an  uncle,  and  the  scarlet  creepers 
have  long  since  done  their  duty  in 
covering  the  little  summer-house. 
I  have  secret  plans  in  regard  to  his 
visit. 

Priscilla  and  I  have  talked  over 
her  father's  misfortune.  Viewed  in 
some  lights,  it  appears  like  a  special 
"  stroke  of  Providence ; "  for,  as 
Priscilla  puts  it,  if  he  had  not  frac- 
tured his  hip,  he  would  surely  have 
flown  again;  and  his  daughter  and 
I  have  little  faith  in  air-ships.  A 
second  fall  might  end  the  career  of 
Mr.  Brown.  Now  the  doctor  thinks 
he  will  get  well,  but  he  must  always 
walk  with  a  crutch.  "  Father  is  so 
secretive!"  moans  Priscilla.  "Had 
I  known,  I  should  have  attempted 
the  flight  with  him." 


(ft? 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      409 

I  am  very  glad  she  did  not  know, 
for  I  shudder  to  think  of  this  deli- 
cate, beautiful  creature  as  maimed. 

Expecting  Mr.  Warren  to-mor- 
row, I  have  business  to  attend  to 
to-day.  The  Browns'  hens  have 
proved  good  and  faithful  servants 
in  the  matter  of  laying.  Belinda 
thinks  their  industry  is  due  to  the 
dried  sunflower  seeds  I  sent  her; 
but  I  consider  it  a  direct  answer  to 
prayer.  I  so  desired  them  to  lay 
that  I  was  not  above  praying  for 
it.  Now  that  I  am  a  little  relieved 
in  regard  to  the  doctor's  bill,  I  shall 
purchase  the  bulbs  for  my  neigh- 
bour's lily  patch.  I  drive  into  town 
with  Max,  who  sets  me  down, 
rather  reluctantly,  before  my  pet 
florist's.  I  do  believe  my  husband 
thinks  it  is  dangerous  to  allow  me 
in  a  flower-shop. 


410      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

I  receive  a  warm  greeting  from 
Mr.  Gerome.  That  affable  man  de- 
clares he  has  missed  me;  and  when 
I  make  known  my  errand  in  regard 
to  the  bulbs,  he  asserts  that  I  shall 
have  the  very  finest  his  nursery  af- 
fords; that  he  will  pick  them  out 
himself  and  see  that  they  are  deliv- 
ered to  me  the  third  week  in  Sep- 
tember, exactly  the  right  time  for 
planting  lily  bulbs.  I  should  have 
left  him  then,  but  he  invited  me  to 
inspect  the  greenhouses ;  and,  — 
well  —  when  the  ten  o'clock  stage 
stopped  to  take  me  home,  a  fat 
woman  in  the  back  seat  grumbled 
because  I  had  to  set  a  large  flower- 
pot holding  a  fine  gloxinia  beside 
her.  How  could  I  help  it  when  I 
had  three  other  pots  containing 
plants  on  the  seat  beside  me  and  a 
big  double  fuchsia  in  my  lap?  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      411 

could  see  that  the  fat  woman  lacked 
a  soul  for  flowers.  All  these  pos- 
sessions had  cost  me  dear;  and 
when  I  reflected,  I  discovered  I  was 
not  at  all  in  need  of  a  fuchsia,  but 
it  did  have  such  fine  double  blooms! 
How  could  I  resist  it?  As  for  the 
gloxinia  and  the  other  plants,  I 
should  make  use  of  them.  Mrs. 
Sullivan's  mother  would  be  ninety- 
one  next  week,  and  for  a  birthday 
gift  I  would  send  her  the  gloxinia. 
How  lucky  that  I  thought  to  pur- 
chase it!  But  now  the  fat  woman 
was  nodding  —  suppose  she  should 
fall  on  it  and  break  it?  I  poked 
her  with  my  parasol  to  awaken  her. 
She  looked  up  and  frowned  at  me; 
but  I  smiled  back  so  affably,  that 
she  forgot  herself  and  began  to 
talk.  I  learned  that  she  was  a  lec- 
turer on  female  suffrage  and  that 


412       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

her  home  was  in  Kansas.  She  had 
come  East  to  visit  her  sister,  who 
lived  in  Zanesville,  a  little  town  on 
the  stage-coach  route.  When  she 
learned  that  I  also  believed  women 
should  have  some  rights,  she  be- 
came so  interesting  that  I  really 
grieved  to  part  with  her.  When  I 
was  set  down  at  my  own  gate,  she 
insisted  upon  handing  out  the  glox- 
inia, and  she  bade  me  good-bye  in 
a  feeling  manner. 

Next  day  Mr.  Warren  arrived. 
His  eyes  were  shining  and  there 
was  such  a  look  of  prosperity  about 
him  that  I  knew  at  once  something 
delightful  had  happened.  Nor  was 
I  mistaken.  After  we  had  walked 
all  through  the  garden  and  he  had 
set  out  a  plant  —  one  he  had 
fetched  as  a  present  to  me  —  we 
sat  down  to  rest  beneath  the  morn- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      413 

ing-glories.  Here  he  told  me  the 
good  news. 

The  relative  of  whose  death  he 
had  written  me  had  bequeathed 
him  a  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
"  My  uncle's  home  was  in  Califor- 
nia," said  Mr.  Warren,  "and  I 
knew  little  about  him,  only  that  he 
was  a  bachelor  and  was  very  rich. 
He  was  much  older  than  my  father, 
and  he  lived  to  the  great  age  of 
ninety.  He  left  the  same  amount 
to  my  two  sisters." 

"When  one  lives  to  be  ninety," 
I  remarked,  "he  ought  not  to  ob- 
ject to  transition.  Your  uncle  did 
well  to  leave  you  this  money.  I 
can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  pleased," 
he  said,  eagerly;  "and  now  —  " 

"What  is  there  to  hinder?"  I 
asked. 


414       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


"  Nothing,  I  hope.  When  I  was 
getting  but  twelve  hundred  a  year, 
it  seemed  impossible  for  me  to 
marry  and  take  upon  my  hands  a 
family;  now  it  is  different." 

Then  I  told  him  of  the  accident 
that  had  befallen  Mr.  Brown. 

"  If  she  consents,"  he  said  ear- 
nestly, "  that  poor  old  gentleman 
shall  always  have  a  home  with 
us." 

"  And  Belinda,  too,"  I  added. 

He  looked  doubtful. 

"  It  would  be  quite  unwise  to 
leave  a  good  cook  behind,"  I  said 
earnestly.  "  Let  nothing  tempt 
you  to  desert  Belinda,  for  I  have 
tasted  her  wares." 

He  laughed.  "  You  set  great 
store  by  cooks." 

"Who   does   not?"   I   returned. 

Belinda's   price  is  above   rubies. 


($ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      415 

If  she  is  not  a  thing  of  beauty,  she 
is  yet  a  joy  for  ever.  What  shall 
you  do  with  the  hens?  " 

"  I  draw  the  line  at  the  hens,"  he 
said. 

Presently  he  laughed  uneasily. 
"  What  plans  you  are  laying!  Per- 
haps she  will  not  accept  me;  I  am 
so  unworthy  of  her." 

I  did  not  reply,  for  I  was  thinking 
deeply.  Priscilla  did  not  know  of 
Mr.  Warren's  arrival  (I  had  kept 
it  a  secret),  and  that  afternoon  she 
had  promised  to  visit  me.  Could  I 
not  entice  her  into  the  summer- 
house,  then  leave  her  to  Fate?  I 
told  Donald  Warren  my  plan  and 
he  heartily  approved  of  it. 

By  common  consent  we  avoided 
saying  anything  more  about  Pris- 
cilla. At  luncheon  we  drifted  into 
a  delightful  talk  concerning  sun- 


416       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

dials.  Mr.  Warren  had  seen,  in  an 
old  garden  at  Cambridge,  just  such 
a  sun-dial  as  I  needed.  He  said 
it  was  the  dearest  old  garden! 
High  brick  walls  enclosed  three 
sides  of  it,  and  here  the  flowers 
came  so  early  in  spring,  dainty  cro- 
cuses, hyacinths  and  jonquils  — 
those  sweet-smelling  white  ones 
with  little  orange  eyes  —  and  daffo- 
dils and  violets.  It  was  a  friendly 
old  garden  and  clung  to  its  favour- 
ites year  after  year.  In  a  wide 
grassy  space  stood  the  sun-dial  of 
gray  stone  with  red  roses  clamber- 
ing around  it.  It  was  quite  an- 
cient; it  had  marked  the  hours  of 
many  a  life  from  toddling  infancy 
to  old  age.  Now,  it  was  crumbling 
a  little  under  the  touch  of  time,  and 
there  was  a  romantic  legend  con- 
cerning it: 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      417 

Often,  on  bright  moonlight 
nights,  the  occupants  of  the  place 
used  to  declare  they  could  see  a 
woman  standing  in  the  garden  by 
the  sun-dial,  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  with  a  pure  oval  face  and 
a  great  wealth  of  golden  hair.  She 
always  wore  a  gown  of  creamy 
satin,  and  about  her  white  neck 
were  ropes  of  gleaming  pearls. 
Nestling  against  her  bosom  was  a 
freshly  plucked  red  rose.  She 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some  one 
who  never  came.  Let  us  trust  that 
it  was  because  he  could  not. 

At  least  a  pretty  story.  I  called 
her  "  the  lady  of  the  sun-dial,"  this 
sweet  old  ghost  haunting  a  well- 
loved  garden.  "Perhaps,"  I  told 
Mr.  Warren,  "  I  shall  come  back  to 
this  garden  of  mine.  Future  occu- 
pants may  look  forth  and  behold  an 


418      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

interesting  ghost  hoeing  the  sweet 
pease  or  weeding  the  pansies.  I 
know  I  shall  come  back,  if  there  are 
no  gardens  in  heaven.  My  heaven 
in  that  case  would  be  here." 

It  was  getting  a  little  late  and  I 
advised  my  friend  to  take  a  walk. 
I  felt  sure  that  I  should  soon  behold 
Priscilla  Brown  coming  up  the 
path.  If  she  discovered  Mr.  War- 
ren, why,  all  might  be  lost. 

He  said  he  would  stroll  through 
my  field,  and  I  watched  him  depart 
with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction. 
Very  soon  Priscilla  appeared.  Poor 
girl,  the  visit  was  a  wholesome 
change  to  her,  from  the  almost  con- 
stant attendance  at  the  sick-bed. 
She  was  looking  a  trifle  pale,  but 
adorable.  I  thought  I  knew  all  her 
frocks;  yet  to-day,  this  pale  blue 
tissue  seemed  so  unfamiliar,  and  so 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      419 

did  the  white  mull  fichu  with  its 
edging  of  spidery  lace.  Priscilla 
must  have  dived  deeply  into  the 
cedar  chest  containing  her  mother's 
wardrobe.  On  her  way  she  had 
picked  a  few  sprigs  of  lobelia,  and 
its  scarlet  glow  shone  out  from  the 
pale  blue  frock  like  a  jaunty  fire. 
Had  dreams  of  conquest  flitted 
through  her  maiden's  brain,  she 
could  not  have  arrayed  herself 
more  charmingly. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  " 
I  exclaimed.  "Is  it  not  warm? 
Come,  let  us  sit  in  the  summer- 
house.  The  scarlet  creepers  quite 
shade  it  now,  and  that  little  bench 
will  just  hold  us  two.  There  we 
can  watch  the  poppies  and  listen  to 
Jenny  Wren's  chatter.  You  know 
she  rents  my  bird-house  at  the  top 
of  the  poles." 


420       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

Priscilla  opened  a  large  white  fan 
which  emitted  a  faint,  delicious  per- 
fume, and  waved  it  back  and  forth. 
"  It  is  so  warm,"  she  said,  "  I 
should  like  to  rest  in  the  summer- 
house." 

Together  we  sat  on  the  little 
bench  and  talked  of  many  things. 
I  inquired  after  Mr.  Brown,  Be- 
linda, and  the  hens.  She  said  her 
father  was  beginning  to  take  no- 
tice, for  yesterday  they  fetched 
him  his  small  box  of  tools  to  look 
over.  "  I  think,"  concluded  Pris- 
cilla, "  he  has  a  new  idea." 

I  waited  a  while  longer,  then  rose 
hastily.  "To  think,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  I  have  forgotten  to  water  my  new 
plant!  The  poor  thing  will  die 
from  neglect  if  I  do  not  attend  to 
it  at  once.  Will  you  please  to  ex- 
cuse me,  Priscilla?" 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      421 


"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  "  but 
shall  I  not  go  with  you?  " 

"  No,"  I  said,  firmly,  "  you  need 
to  rest.  Sit  here  until  I  return." 

Then  I  hurried  down  the  path  to 
the  foot-bridge.  I  scanned  my  field 
closely,  and  at  the  far  end  discov- 
ered Mr.  Warren  resting  under  the 
slippery-elm  tree.  Quickly  I  fas- 
tened my  handkerchief  to  a  pole, 
which  I  had  fetched  for  this  pur- 
pose, and  waved  it  energetically. 

A  word  to  the  wise!  Mr.  War- 
ren understood.  He  arose  with 
alacrity;  and  I,  left  to  my  own 
devices,  wandered  into  the  grove. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  stayed  for  hours 
in  that  grove;  I  could  not  gauge 
the  time  it  takes  for  some  men  to 
propose.  I  could  only  judge  by 
Max.  I  well  remembered  how  fool- 
ish and  red  he  had  looked  and  how 


422       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

he  stammered  and  what  a  time  he 
took  to  it.  Would  Mr.  Donald 
Warren  stammer  and  get  red  in  the 
face?  I  feared  so,  for  he  is  a  shy 
young  man;  but  I  did  not  care  if 
he  only  told  her  that  he  loved  her 
and  in  the  end  she  said  yes.  Would 
she  say  yes?  "Ah,  Priscilla,"  I 
thought,  "  I  have  not  read  your 
heart  in  vain.  If  you  yield  to  its 
soft  persuasions,  that  little  sum- 
mer-house shall  know  the  glory  of 
a  romance." 

By  and  by  the  sunbeams  began 
to  steal  down  the  boles  of  the  sil- 
very beech;  they  touched  the  white 
birch  until  its  pallor  was  quite 
startling.  All  the  ferns  became 
golden  ladders,  and  queer  little  neb- 
ulous figures  darted  over  the  brown 
carpet  under  the  pine  trees.  It  was 
growing  late.  Slowly  I  arose  to 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      423 

go  home.  When  I  reached  the  path 
that  led  to  the  summer-house, 
through  the  scarlet  creepers  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Priscilla's  blue 
gown.  So  they  were  yet  there,  and 
perhaps  all  was  well.  I  still  car- 
ried the  pole  from  which  I  had 
waved  the  white  flag.  A  thought 
came  to  me.  I  took  a  folded  paper 
from  my  chatelaine  bag  and  tied  it 
to  the  pole,  letting  it  dangle  a  little. 
Then  I  stole  to  one  side  of  the  sum- 
mer-house and  pushed  my  offering 
through  the  doorway. 

It  was  quickly  seized  and  the  two 
heads  bent  over  the  paper  while 
Priscilla  read: 

"  Beyond  the  gold  green  lawn  the  poppy  gar- 
den 

Flutters  and  flaunts  like  sunset  seas  aglow; 
The  frosty,  fuzzy  stalks  and  blue  leaf  banners, 
Ranging  in  row  on  row. 


424       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  Oh,  happy  dreamers  in  a  poppy  garden, 
Under  the  soft  sweet  sky  of  summer  blue, 
Oh,  happy  dreamers  in  a  poppy  garden, 
Say,  have  your  dreams  come  true?  " 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter, 
then  Donald  Warren  rushed  out  to 
grasp  my  hands;  and  behind  him 
came  Priscilla,  her  great  white  fan 
swaying  furiously  and  her  sweet 
cheeks  glowing  like  the  pink  of 
shells.  I  believe  I  shook  hands 
with  Mr.  Warren  at  least  six  times, 
and  I  kissed  Priscilla  over  and  over 
again.  We  were  all  foolishly 
happy,  with  the  happiness  that 
ever  and  anon  makes  a  paradise 
of  this  old  world. 

So  Max  found  us  and  added  his 
congratulations;  and  by  and  by 
Donald  Warren  rowed  Priscilla 
across  the  lake.  A  daffodil  sky 
flaunted  in  the  west  and  the  early 


The  early-rising  moon  made  a  path  of  glory  for  them 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       425 


rising  moon  made  a  path  of  glory 
for  them. 

"Well,  little  matchmaker,"  said 
Max,  "  now  I  hope  you  are  satis- 
fied." 


MR.    BROWN   IS 
DISSATISFIED 


XXVI 


HEN  Mr.  Brown 
learned  that  his 
daughter  had 
given  her  heart 
away  he  re- 
sented it;  but  like  the  most  of  fa- 
thers, he  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  his  daughter's  heart  was  her 
own  and  not  at  all  amenable  to  the 
dictates  of  another.  It  took  time  to 
realize  this,  however. 

Of  course  he  might  forbid  her  to 
marry;  but  who  can  forbid  one  to 
love?  Love  comes  often  when  we 
least  expect  it,  and  without  leave 

426 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       427 

or  license  breaks  locks  and  bars 
and  makes  its  way  into  the  human 
heart. 

Donald  Warren  very  frankly 
stated  his  case  to  the  old  gentle- 
man, but  Mr.  Brown  said  fretfully, 
"  She  is  my  very  own;  how  can  I 
spare  her  to  another?  " 

1  You  will  not  lose  her,"  returned 
the  young  man.  "  Your  home  shall 
always  be  with  us;  and,  Mr. 
Brown,  I  will  fit  you  up  a  work- 
shop." 

The  workshop  was  interesting. 
Mr.  Brown  turned  his  face  from 
the  wall  toward  the  young  man. 
"What  prospects  have  you?"  he 
asked. 

When  Donald  Warren  had  out- 
lined his  very  good  prospects,  Mr. 
Brown  relented;  in  truth,  he  be- 
came quite  cordial,  and  it  all  ended 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


by   his   grasping   the   hand   of   his 
future  son-in-law  and  blessing  him 
in  good  old  story-book  fashion. 
And  here  endeth  the  chapter. 


A  DISAPPOINT- 
MENT  THAT 
PROVED  A 
BLESSING 


XXVII 


O-DAY,  two  huge 
box^s  arrived  by 
express.  As  I 
gazed  at  them 
my  heart 
bounded  with  gratitude.  One 
surely  contained  the  urn  for  my 
Boston  fern,  and  the  other,  a  much- 
needed  wardrobe. 

I  could  not  wait  for  Max's  re- 
turn to  open  them.  I  called  in  Pat. 
Alas !  alas !  the  first  box  contained 
—  not  the  urn,  but  an  onyx  ped- 
estal and  a  bronze  bust  of  Byron. 
I  could  have  wept.  I  did  weep. 

420 


430       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


The  second  box;  well,  when  my 
wardrobe  was  spread  out,  I  really 
questioned  my  aunt's  sanity.  What 
frocks  for  a  gardener!  One  is  a 
pale  blue  gauze  with  a  train  at  least 
a  yard  long,  and  all  trimmed  with 
lace  and  ribbon.  When  shall  I 
wear  it?  One  turn  in  the  garden 
and  it  will  be  gone.  Another  is  of 
pink  mousseline  de  soie,  accordion- 
pleated.  Does  my  aunt  think  me 
a  skirt-dancer?  Another,  of  white 
Liberty  silk,  trimmed  with  rows 
and  rows  of  pink  rosebuds.  It  has 
low  neck  and  short  sleeves.  I  cer- 
tainly can  never  hoe  in  this  gown! 
The  last  one,  a  little  plainer,  thank 
Heaven!  —  a  Paris  muslin  with  a 
yoke  and  sleeves  of  finest  lace.  I 
can  wear  this  upon  great  occa- 
sions; say,  such  as  a  wedding  to 
come.  At  the  bottom  of  the  box 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      431 


are  silk  and  lace  petticoats  and 
white  slippers.  All  this  finery, 
when  I  did  so  long  for  a  new  ging- 
ham and  a  green  muslin!  When 
I  so  needed  a  new  straw  hat  and  a 
pair  of  garden  gloves !  Trusting  in 
my  aunt,  I  have  spent  all  my  allow- 
ance, —  it  is  planted  and  sown,  — 
but  I  have  one  welcome  fact  to  con- 
sole me.  It  will  never  come  up  and 
disappoint  me  like  the  freaks  of  my 
relative. 

I  was  so  happy  when  I  arose  this 
morning,  but  now —  I  went  be- 
hind the  Norway  spruce  and  wept. 
I  felt  that  I  had  cause  to  weep. 

But  good  angels  are  ever  near  me. 
Presently,  one  seemed  to  come  and 
touch  me  on  the  shoulder.  It  in- 
quired: "  Why  these  tears?  " 

I  was  about  to  explain  when  a 
great  thought  seized  me;  no  doubt 


432      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


IVs 


it  was  an  inspiration.  Immedi- 
ately, my  grief  was  turned  to  joy. 

Why  should  I  consider  the  gowns 
an  affliction?  Aunt  Matilda  had 
imposed  upon  me  no  conditions. 
They  were  mine;  I  could  give  them 
away.  How  perfectly  charming  it 
would  be  to  help  out  Priscilla 
Brown's  trousseau!  The  gowns 
would  be  so  becoming  to  her.  She 
was  slender,  like  myself;  they 
would  need  but  a  little  alteration, 
for  fortunately,  the  skirts  were  not 
put  into  bands. 

Then,  there  was  the  bronze  bust 
of  Byron  and  the  onyx  pedestal; 
what  an  appropriate  wedding  gift! 
Surely,  I  am  hedged  round  by  good 
angels !  I  blessed  my  aunt.  I  rose 
up  from  behind  that  Norway  spruce 
and  made  for  the  morning-glories. 
When  I  feel  particularly  joyful  1 


* 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       433 

always  go  and  look  at  my  morning- 
glories.  They  are  the  only  flowers 
that  seem  just  to  express  my  ex- 
uberance. 

That  afternoon  I  purloined  one 
of  Rhoda's  wash-tubs,  and  painted 
the  outside  with  green  enamel  paint 
that  dries  so  quickly;  then  Pat 
made  me  a  fine  pedestal  out  of  a 
tree  trunk.  We  nailed  the  tub  to 
this  pedestal  and  carefully  filled  it 
with  good  honest  dirt.  In  it,  I 
planted  my  Boston  fern,  —  I  mean 
Max's  Boston  fern,  as  it  was  my 
last  year's  Christmas  gift  to  him. 
How  it  had  grown!  The  fronds 
drooped  gracefully  and  hid  the 
plebeian  tub.  The  effect  was  quite 
as  good  as  if  the  fern  had  been 
placed  in  a  costly  urn,  and  I  felt 
as  well  satisfied.  I  had  lost  noth- 
ing, after  all;  in  truth,  I  was  the 


434       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

gainer;  and  this  is  an  excellent  way 
to  look  upon  seeming  disappoint- 
ments. 

A  little  later,  a  man  came  along 
selling  a  mixture  to  clean  straw 
hats.  I  bought  a  bottle  and  Rhoda 
cleaned  mine  as  good  as  new;  then 
I  examined  my  green  muslin  and 
found  it  would  turn.  I  speculated 
that  the  grateful  Misses  Lark 
would  do  this  turning  at  "  reduced 
rates."  Have  I  not  said  that  if  one 
has  a  little  trust,  sealed  doors  are 
always  opening  to  him?  There  is 
always  a  way  to  compass  one's 
desires. 

After  planting  the  fern,  Pat  and 
I  repacked  the  boxes.  I  kept  out 
the  fine  white  muslin  gown  for  my- 
self. The  others  I  sacrificed  (?). 
Then  I  boldly  marked  those  boxes 
with  green  paint,  "  For  Miss  Pris- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       435 

cilia  Brown,"  being  careful  to  erase 
my  own  address. 

When  Pat  had  nailed  them  up, 
he  hoisted  them  into  the  wheel- 
barrow and  pushed  them  to  our 
little  dock.  Here  he  placed  them 
(with  the  wheelbarrow  on  top)  in 
the  boat  that  my  husband  had  re- 
cently purchased  for  the  purpose  of 
pursuing  me.  Then  we  entered  the 
other  boat,  Pat  rowing  and  I  hold- 
ing fast  to  a  stout  rope  —  towing 
our  precious  freight.  In  this  fash- 
ion we  passed  the  little  river  and 
rowed  across  the  shining  lake; 
landing  at  the  path  which  led 
through  the  meadow  to  the  Brown 
domain. 

That  night  Priscilla  Brown's 
trousseau  was  greatly  enriched; 
and  she  had  also  received  an  ap- 
propriate wedding  gift.  I  felt  so 


436       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

happy  over  this  coup-de-main,  that 
on  the  way  home  I  silently  prayed 
for  my  aunt's  gout.  Such  a  good 
woman  ought  never  to  have  the 
gout.  I  can  always  pray  best  in 
the  open  air.  Pat  watched  me  with 
kindly  Irish  eyes.  Finally  he  said: 

"  Shure,  missus,  ye're  that  gen- 
erous ! " 

"  Generous !  "  I  broke  in.  "  Is  it 
generous  to  give  away  what  you 
can't  use  and  don't  want?  " 


/   POSSESS   A 
SUN-DIAL 


XXVIII 


UGUST  is  a  still 
month.  The 
meadows  are 
very  quiet,  for 
the  bobolinks 
have  gone  north,  and  so  many  of 
our  birds  are  exchanging  their 
shabby  coats  for  new  ones.  This 
period  of  moulting  seems  to  rob 
them  of  their  melody,  for  they  only 
sing  now  and  then.  But  the  very 
serenity  of  August  makes  it  a 
month  to  be  prized.  Now,  if  ever, 
come  golden  days,  when  the  lake  is 
like  a  vast  mirror,  gathering  into 

487 


438       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


its  depths  all  the  blueness  of  the 
hills,  all  the  graciousness  of  the 
trees. 

There  is  a  row  of  burning  sun- 
flowers at  the  end  of  my  garden. 
They  were  planted  a  little  late,  and 
seem  just  suited  to  these  golden 
days  ;  then  my  marigolds,  row  upon 
row,  hobnobbing  with  the  vege- 
tables in  the  kitchen-garden,  look 
beautiful  in  their  crinkly  orange 
gowns.  Rhoda  loves  marigolds, 
and  so  does  Araminta.  The  latter 
always  has  one  stuck  in  her  kinky 
braids.  When  Araminta  is  dressed 
in  red  she  always  reminds  me  of  a 
black  poppy  flaunting  in  the  sun. 

August  is  the  month  of  gorgeous 
flowers.  How  crimson  the  phlox 
glows  yonder;  and  how  deeply  blue 
is  my  late  sown  larkspur.  I  have 
a  huge  foliage  plant  with  all  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       439 

tints  of  the  rainbow  imprisoned  in 
its  leaves.  It  grows  where  the  sun 
strikes  it  all  day  long  and  I  give  it 
but  little  water.  Too  much  water 
fades  foliage  plants.  Then  the  old- 
fashioned  garden  boasts  of  many  a 
quaint  sweet  bloom  in  August. 

Yesterday,  my  sun-dial  came, 
ordered  from  the  city.  It  is  of 
gray  stone  and  on  its  face  is  in- 
scribed the  motto:  "I  count  only 
sunny  hours."  And  this  is  what  I 
wish  to  count  in  my  life,  the  sunny 
hours,  and  not  the  sad  and  sorrow- 
ful ones. 

We  placed  the  sun-dial  where  I 
had  planned,  in  the  wide  grassy 
space  beside  the  old-fashioned  gar- 
den. Pat  had  already  planted  the 
climbing  red  rose  to  decorate  it. 
How  I  hope  this  honourable  time- 
piece will  soon  grow  a  little  mossy 


440       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

and  weather-stained!  It  will  then 
seem  at  home  in  my  garden.  How 
sharp  and  distinct  is  the  shadow  cut 
by  the  sun  on  the  cool  gray  stone; 
and  how  often  I  consult  it!  Never, 
before,  has  it  seemed  so  important 
to  me  to  note  the  fleeting  hours. 

Priscilla  Brown  has  been  over  to 
see  the  sun-dial.  Bending  above  it, 
we  have  reckoned  the  hours  that 
must  creep  across  its  stone  face, 
ere  she  will  become  the  bride  of 
Donald  Warren.  Oh,  slow  but 
happy  hours !  It  is  so  sweet  a  thing 
to  be  betrothed !  Life  takes  on  such 
a  radiance,  such  a  strange  new 
sense  of  fitness,  that  existence  be- 
comes no  longer  prose  but  poetry. 

Priscilla  Brown  has  made  me  a 
good  deal  of  trouble  over  those 
gowns.  She  declares  she  cannot 
accept  them;  but  I,  oh,  I  have 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       441 

begged  her  not  to  say  it  again.  I 
have  explained  to  her  how  I  should 
pine  in  them.  I  could  not  go  into 
the  garden  to  water  the  plants.  I 
could  not  run  to  watch  the  lily  buds 
open;  nor  could  I  swish  across  the 
dewy  grass  at  twilight.  I  could  do 
nothing  but  sit  like  a  sorrowful, 
transplanted  shrub  in  hateful  en- 
vironments. "  Dear  Priscilla,"  I 
pleaded,  "  do  accept  them ! "  and 
when  I  had  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks,  the  dear  thing  yielded. 

I  have  noticed  that  the  weeds  do 
not  grow  so  fast  in  August.  It  is 
as  if  they  were  discouraged  with 
past  months  of  striving.  My  gar- 
,den  is  quite  free  from  them;  and 
as  all  the  bugs  are  dead  I  have  com- 
parative peace. 

Have  I  mentioned  my  red  canna 
bed?    It  is  as  gorgeous  as  my  tulip 


442       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


bed  in  spring,  and  quite  as  hearten- 
ing. It  is  so  lasting  in  bloom  that 
I  know  Jack  Frost  will  only  nip  it 
after  several  trials.  Cannas  are 
new-fashioned,  and  I  have  set  them 
far  away  from  my  grandmother's 
garden.  They  have  no  sweet  old- 
timey  fragrance.  They  are  bold 
and  flashy;  but  when  the  sun 
kisses  them  their  brightness  daz- 
zles you  and  makes  you  think  what 
a  cheerful  being  God  really  is. 
With  cannas,  gladioli,  marigolds, 
and  sunflowers  in  your  garden,  can 
any  one  be  sad? 

I  have  a  friend  who  declares  the 
"  blues "  can  be  routed,  by  just 
thinking  of  roses,  all  kinds  of  roses, 
red,  pink,  yellow,  and  white;  im- 
agining them  in  the  mind,  till  sud- 
denly the  sullen  spirit  withdraws 
and  one  feels  glad  again.  If  this 


7, 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       443 

be  true,  how  hilarious  one  might 
grow  by  just  thinking  of  red  cannas 
or  golden  marigolds. 

It  is  the  truest  thing  in  the  world 
that  a  love  for  flowers  brings  joy 
and  peace  where  money  fails. 
Would  I  exchange  with  my  aunt: 
take  her  fortune  and  the  gout  and 
give  her  my  love  for  flowers?  No, 
indeed;  that  gout  always  decides 
me.  I  love  my  aunt,  but  I  am  so 
thankful  that  I  have  taken  after  my 
grandmother  on  my  mother's  side. 
I  have  been  called  a  crank,  a  senti- 
mentalist, and  a  mystic.  They  are 
all  good  names;  for  is  not  a  crank 
needed  to  turn  the  wheels  of  prog- 
ress? And  a  sentimentalist?  Well, 
what  would  this  world  be  if  it  were 
robbed  of  romance,  that  soft  illu- 
sion which  throws  a  glamour  over 
common  things?  A  mystic?  He 


444       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

sees  more  than  other  people;  he 
peers  through  the  material  into  the 
spiritual  and  beholds  sights  that 
convince  him  of  the  goodness  of 
God  for  all  time.  The  people  who 
called  me  these  names  meant  to 
malign  me.  It  made  me  feel  a  little 
sorry,  for  I  wondered  what  they 
had  against  me.  I  had  never  called 
them  names.  I  am  so  glad  that 
flowers  are  such  mute  comforters. 
I  feel  they  love  me  and  so  do  the 
trees,  from  the  dainty  white  birch 
to  her  ragged  sister  that  leans 
across  the  whimpering  stream,  all 
love  me,  because  I  first  loved  them. 
If  I  could  take  you  in  my  boat 
one  of  these  still  August  days,  I 
would  row  you  past  the  reeds,  turn- 
ing a  little  golden,  but  still  softly 
green;  through  the  beds  of  yellow 
nuphar,  those  poor  relations  of  the 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      445 

water-lily;  past  the  arrow-heads 
flaunting  rank  green  leaves  shaped 
like  Indians'  arrows ;  by  the  pebbly 
beach;  past  the  grove  and  back 
again  to  the  river.  The  water  is 
like  glass  and  the  hills  are  burdened 
with  a  tender  haze.  Along  the 
meadow  fences  the  golden-rod  is 
beginning  to  blaze,  and  a  few  asters 
star  the  grass.  Yesterday,  the  min- 
ister and  I  met  on  the  lake,  he 
dreaming  in  his  boat,  and  I  in  mine. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  called  out,  "  I 
cannot  stay  on  the  farm  for  two 
years." 

"Why  not?  "I  asked. 

"  Because  I  have  so  much  to  tell. 
I  am  growing  so  enchanted  with 
nature,  so  filled  with  the  joy  of  it, 
that  I  must  go  back  and  let  those 
poor  iron-caged  town  people  know 
there  is  hope,  glorious  hope,  for 


446       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


them!  I  wonder  if  I  can  keep  in 
the  pulpit  and  speak  decorously. 
Who  knows  but  that  I  may  have  to 
join  the  Salvation  Army  and  get 
me  a  tambourine  just  to  be  rid  of 
my  exuberance!  Is  not  this  a  per- 
fect day! "  and  the  minister  took  a 
full  and  sweeping  view  of  the  lake, 
the  dear  hills,  and  the  sweet  mead- 
ows. 

"  How  is  your  garden  these 
days?  "  I  inquired. 

"You  mean  the  'New  Eden,"' 
he  asserted.  "  The  cabbages  are 
poor:  a  green  caterpillar  is  crawl- 
ing over  the  leaves.  I  have  caught 
one  and  imprisoned  him  in  a  tum- 
bler just  to  see  him  cast  off  the  old 
man  —  spin  his  chrysalis,  or  grave- 
clothes.  My  love-apples  hang  lus- 
cious on  the  vines,  red  and  yellow. 
I  have  celery,  squashes,  and  a  great 


Midsummer  Wooing 


golden  pumpkin  that  I  raised  just 
for  glory.  My  popcorn  is  turning 
yellow,  and  you  can  hear  its  silken 
tassels  swinging  in  the  breeze. 
My  flowers!  —  oh,  my  dear  lady, 
come  yourself  and  look  at  them. 
When  they  hear  your  footsteps  in 
the  garden,  they  will  prink  and 
blush  a  deeper  tint,  for  all  Nature 
loves  her  lover." 


MAX   AND   /, 

AND    THE        XXIX 
SUMMER-HOUSE 


EESE  moonlight 
nights,  Max  and 
I  walk  in  the 
garden.  We  sit 
in  the  little  sum- 
mer-house —  just  built  for  two  — 
and  often  grow  a  trifle  sentimental, 
even  if  we  are  quite  "  old  married 
folk." 

I  am  devoted  to  my  husband,  but 
I  sometimes  wish  he  were  a  gar- 
dener. I  have  thought  how  delight- 
ful it  would  be  to  spend  all  our 
income  for  plants.  What  a  garden 
we  should  have !  Yet  of  late,  it  has 

448 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      449 

been  borne  in  upon  me  that  perhaps 
it  is  just  as  well  Max.  is  an  editor. 
Two  of  a  trade  never  agree.  He 
might  wish  a  plant  set  in  one  spot 
and  I  wish  it  set  in  another.  What 
would  happen  then?  I  cannot  tell; 
and  I  dare  not  speculate.  Now 
everything  is  pleasant  between  us. 
I  never  dispute  where  he  shall  place 
his  paragraphs,  or  he  where  I  shall 
set  my  sunflowers.  Our  tastes  are 
totally  different,  but  our  hearts  are 
united. 

I  think  I  should  live  longer  if  my 
conscience  were  not  so  trouble- 
some. It  has  been  vexing  me  for 
the  past  week,  and  all  because  I 
have  not  told  Max  about  Aunt  Ma- 
tilda's latest  gifts.  Here  sits  the 
poor  man,  serene  and  comfortable. 
I  hate  to  disturb  him  by  letting  him 
know  that  he  has  lost  something 


450      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

of  value.  Of  course  he  will  think 
me  wildly  foolish.  How  provoking 
is  one's  conscience! 

Presently  he  remarks :  "  Judith, 
we  ought  to  send  Priscilla  Brown 
and  Donald  Warren  a  wedding 
gift." 

Surely  one  of  my  good  angels 
prompted  that  speech,  else  why  so 
apropos?  "  I  have  attended  to  that, 
Max,"  I  replied;  "they  have  a 
suitable  gift." 

"What  was  it?"  he  asked.  "A 
palm,  or  a  fern,  or  maybe  a  rose- 
bush?" 

"  It  was  nothing  of  the  sort,"  I 
said  stoutly.  Then  I  told  him  all. 

I  expected  he  would  be  so  vexed, 
but  he  only  laughed.  "  You  are  a 
little  saint,  Judith,"  he  said.  "  How 
did  you  guess  that  I  am  short  of 
money?  It  certainly  was  an  appro- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       451 

priate  gift;  but  why  did  you  part 
with  the  gowns?  You  know  I  love 
to  see  you  look  pretty." 

"  I  should  not  look  pretty  long/' 
I  replied,  "  if  I  were  obliged  to  wear 
such  frocks.  My  forehead  would 
get  tangled  into  a  frown  and  my 
spirits  leave  me.  It  is  useless,  Max, 
to  expect  a  garden  woman  to  be 
arrayed  in  tissues.  My  aunt  is 
really  ridiculous.  She  ought  to 
know  better." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  he  said. 

"  The  Misses  Lark  are  coming  to 
turn  my  green  muslin,"  I  remarked 
a  little  later;  "so  I  shall  do  quite 
well.  I  like  green;  it's  God's  fa- 
vourite colour.  He  has  arrayed 
more  objects  in  green  than  in  any- 
thing else.  Somehow  I  feel  so 
woodsy  in  such  a  frock;  so  in  tune 
with  nature;  then  I  consider  green 


452       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

is  becoming  to  my  style  of  beauty, 
don't  you?" 

Max  smiled  and  slipped  my  hand 
into  his.  "  You're  a  cheerful  soul," 
he  said;  "  and  you  do  remind  me  of 
a  prinky-perky  little  shrub." 

Was  that  a  compliment? 

How  fragrant  white  flowers  are 
at  night.  My  white  phlox  and  the 
branching  nicotiana  really  usurp 
the  air.  Their  perfume  is  as  in- 
sistent as  a  voice  calling  one;  and 
did  you  ever  pass  an  elderberry 
bush  after  dark;  catch  the  faint 
glimmering  of  the  white  cymes  and 
smell  the  sweet  musky  odour  that 
one  scarcely  heeds  in  daylight? 
Then  the  white  lilies  gleaming  in 
the  moonlight.  Did  you  ever  stand 
among  tall  clusters  of  them,  — 
yourself  arrayed  in  white,  and  feel, 
as  you  inhaled  their  exquisite  fra- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      453 

grance,  your  soul  grow?  White 
lilies  are  of  the  spirit,  and  when  the 
moonlight  shines  upon  them,  they 
touch  the  great  invisible  rim  of  the 
occult.  I  like  to  pray  among  the 
lilies.  I  like  to  ask  God  for  a  full 
measure  of  happiness,  well  pressed 
down.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
think  God  was  more  in  the  lily 
patch  than  anywhere  else,  but  I  do 
feel  His  wonderful  presence  there; 
and  when  I  smell  the  lilies,  —  why, 
I  hear  the  rustling  of  wings. 

My  friend,  who  declares  she  has 
a  home  in  a  spiritual  sphere,  enters 
her  domain  between  tall  hedges  of 
wonderful  lilies.  I  often  think  of 
that  home  as  she  described  it.  How 
real  it  seems  to  her!  I  suppose  if 
a  doctor  were  to  diagnose  her  case, 
he  would  declare  her  fit  for  a  luna- 
tic asylum;  but,  if  one  must  be 


454       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

crazy,  why  not  be  crazy  over  some- 
thing pleasant?  and  my  friend  is  a 
very  joyful  lunatic. 

"  Look  not  into  the  unseen," 
warn  some;  but  I  say,  gaze  deeply; 
for  the  material  is  but  the  shadow 
of  the  unseen. 


/   SURPRISE 
MR.  SPEAR 


XXX 


HE  Misses  Lark 
have  come,  two 
prim  but 

sprightly  old 
maids.  Their 
thin  locks  are  dragged  back  from 
their  foreheads  with  painful  tight- 
ness and  made  into  firm  little  but- 
tons, one  at  the  back  of  each  head. 
Their  eyes  are  gray  and  full  of 
curiosity;  but  it  is  such  sweet  and 
kindly  curiosity  that  it  makes  me 
love  them.  This  time  they  wear 
stiffly  starched  light  calico  gowns 
and  small  hoops.  Think  of  it,  these 

466 


456      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

disciples  of  fashion  in  hoops!  I 
had  to  inquire  why  they  wore  them. 
They  replied,  "  Because  hoops  are 
so  airy  and  comfortable." 

The  dear  things  have  brought  me 
a  new  shrub  called  Peter's  Wreath 
and  I  have  planted  it  beside  the  ice- 
house. They  say  it  has  an  abun- 
dance of  spiry  blooms,  handsome 
enough  to  make  a  wreath  for  St. 
Peter,  himself.  When  I  expressed 
my  joyful  thanks  to  them,  they  re- 
plied that  it  was  but  a  slight  return 
for  the  beautiful  cat  I  had  given 
them. 

When  I  look  at  a  lonely  little 
nest  in  my  maple  tree  and  recall  the 
wails  of  the  poor  robins,  I  feel  that 
that  cat  is  misrepresented. 

With  many  a  little  chipper  and 
chirp  the  Larks  began  to  turn  my 
green  gown.  They  say  it  will  look 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       457 

as  good  as  new.  Dear,  simple 
souls,  they  are  used  to  poverty  and 
makeshifts.  It  is  not  often  they 
get  a  new  gown  to  work  on,  for  the 
most  of  their  neighbours  turn  their 
gowns  upside  down  and  inside  out 
before  they  discard  them.  These 
are  the  dear  dressmakers  that  I 
once  prayed  the  Lord  to  send  me. 
Now,  if  my  milliner  were  only  as 
handy  to  furbish  old  hats,  why,  I 
could  save  enough  money  to  set  out 
a  lily  patch  for  Mrs.  Sullivan.  I 
know  her  mother,  the  old  lady  in 
the  ruffled  cap  who  makes  me  think 
of  a  sunflower,  would  enjoy  watch- 
ing the  lilies  come  out.  The 
naughty  old  thing  smokes  and  is 
quite  material  in  her  remarks  about 
people;  but  I  forgive  her,  because 
she  learned  these  wretched  habits 
in  her  youth  and  no  one  has  taught 


458       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


her  differently.  She  cannot  live 
much  longer,  and  it  is  high  time 
that  she  had  a  lily  patch  to  spiritu- 
alize her.  Mrs.  Sullivan  declares 
that  her  mother  has  "  an  illigant 
moind,"  but  I  consider  it  a  bit  too 
worldly  for  one  of  her  age. 

Yesterday,  Pat  and  I  buried  the 
rose  sprouts  for  Mrs.  Sullivan's 
hedge.  I  do  not  think  it  seemly 
that  the  corn-field  should  peep  into 
her  very  windows.  Still,  there  is 
something  wonderfully  enticing 
about  a  corn-field.  Did  you  ever 
walk  in  one,  down  its  long  green 
aisles,  and  hear  the  rustling  and 
shaking  of  silken  tassels  in  the 
breeze?  Then  the  pumpkin  vines 
straying  through  it,  with  great, 
green  leaves  and  coarse  yellow 
flowers,  gaudy  heralds  of  the 
golden  globes  of  autumn. 


Klc 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      459 

When  I  was  a  child  I  had  a  mania 
for  fashioning  pumpkin  lanterns.  I 
know  I  excelled  in  cutting  out  Sa- 
tanic faces;  for  once,  when  I  had 
made  three  lanterns  (all  excellent 
likenesses  of  Beelzebub),  I  set  them, 
just  at  dusk,  outside  our  gate.  A 
horse  passing  recognized  these  por- 
trayals of  evil  and  ran  away.  A 
fine  carriage  was  broken  and  my 
father  was  obliged  to  pay  fifty  dol- 
lars to  the  indignant  owner.  After 
that  I  made  angels'  faces  and  kept 
them  away  from  the  gate. 

If  one  enjoys  walking  through 
corn  when  green  and  odorous,  is  it 
not  still  finer  to  walk  through  it 
at  autumn  time;  say,  when  it  has 
turned  a  tawny  yellow  and  stiff 
breezes  frolic  down  its  aisles?  Then 
such  a  clatter  as  the  leaves  make. 
You  pull  the  pallid  husks  to  peep 


460       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

at  the  golden  kernels;  and,  if  it 
only  be  popcorn,  what  anticipations 
of  winter  fun  with  a  corn  popper 
and  the  bright  hickory  log. 

Some  people  say  autumn  is  a 
melancholy  time  of  year,  but  I  say, 
"Away  with  such  a  thought!" 
Are  the  tints  that  burn  and  glitter 
—  the  riotous  reds  and  yellows,  sad 
tones?  Autumn  is  gay,  the  glori- 
ous fulfilment  of  a  wonderful  prom- 
ise. 

I  must  always  have  my  hat 
trimmed  with  red  in  autumn.  At 
the  turning  of  the  first  green  leaf, 
I  feel  it  is  time  to  deck  myself.  I 
like  to  wear  a  red  skirt,  and  if  I 
dared,  a  yellow  waist.  I  dare  not; 
so  I  wear  a  green  waist,  the  colour 
of  young  beech  leaves.  Then  I  go 
out  and  mingle  with  all  the  glorious 
tints;  myself  a  bit  of  gayety  in 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      461 

spirit  and  in  person.  I  revel  in  be- 
ing happy  and  never  wish  to  be 
miserable  as  long  as  there  are  gar- 
dens and  the  sun  shines. 

Yesterday  a  funny  thing  hap- 
pened to  me.  I  started  out  for 
golden  -  rod.  Although  I  have 
plenty  of  yellow  flowers  at  home, 
I  still  covet  these  golden  candles 
that  flare  in  every  fence  corner.  I 
wanted  such  a  quantity  of  golden- 
rod  that  I  carried  a  large  basket  for 
myself  and  took  Araminta  along 
to  carry  a  smaller  one.  She  was  in 
one  part  of  the  field  and  I  in  an- 
other. I  was  finding  some  partic- 
ularly fine  candles,  when  I  suddenly 
heard  voices  from  behind  a  group 
of  elder-bushes. 

One  I  recognized  as  that  of 
farmer  Spear.  "Yes,  siree,"  said 
he,  "  I'm  done  cuttin'  down  shrubs. 


462       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

I'm  jes'  goin'  to  let  bushes  grow 
all  round  my  fields.  I  never  ex- 
pected a  gol-dum  woman  could 
larn  me  anything;  but  one  did. 
She  told  me  bugs  jes'  naturally  take 
to  open  spaces." 

I  was  bending  low  for  a  bunch 
of  golden-rod,  and  by  peering 
through  the  bushes  I  could  see  the 
men,  two  middle-aged  farmers  in 
ragged  straw  hats  and  overalls, 
each  chewing  a  spray  of  timothy. 

I  could  not  resist  the  mischief; 
I  thrust  my  head  a  little  closer  into 
the  bushes  and  said  sternly: 

"I'm  not  a  gol-dum  woman!" 

They  started  and  looked  in  every 
direction;  but  I  hid  the  closer  un- 
der the  elderberry  bushes.  I  could 
see  the  red  mounting  to  farmer 
Spear's  copper-coloured  face.  Poor 
man,  he  was  dreadfully  mortified. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      463 

I  felt  so  sorry  for  him,  that  I  gave 
way  to  a  merry  laugh,  and,  emer- 
ging from  my  hiding-place,  con- 
fronted them. 

"  Pitchforks  and  hoe  handles !  " 
exclaimed  the  other  man;  but 
farmer  Spear  came  forward.  "  I 
jes'  humbly  beg  yer  pardon,  Mrs. 
Elliot,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  guess 
you  wor  round  here." 

"  Or  you  wouldn't  have  called  me 
a  name?  "  I  said. 

"  I  rather  think  not,"  he  replied. 
"  I  didn't  mean  nothin',  anyhow. 
It's  jes'  my  nateral  way  o'  talkin'. 
Me  and  my  folks  think  a  lot  of 
you." 

"  I'm  not  offended,"  I  said,  "  and 
you  will  never  regret  letting  the 
beautiful  shrubs  grow." 

I  know  the  poor  man  went  home 
and  told  his  wife;  for  that  very 


464      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

afternoon  Mrs.  Spear  appeared 
with  a  peace  offering,  a  clump  of 
tiger  lilies.  I  was  so  glad  to  get 
these  lilies  that  I  forgot  I  had  been 
called  a  name.  In  return  I  heaped 
her  basket  with  blooms,  and  told 
her  not  to  worry;  the  peace  offer- 
ing had  wiped  out  all  grudges. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  we 
planted  it,  the  peace  offering,  in  my 
field.  Pat  dug  the  holes  and  I  di- 
vided the  bulbs.  Next  year  I  shall 
have  three  clumps  of  tiger  lilies 
blooming  along  the  brook.  I  have 
planted  them  just  beyond  the  dark 
blue  iris,  so  that  their  orange  tints 
will  show  to  the  best  advantage, 
should  they  happen  to  bloom  to- 
gether. The  banks  of  that  brook 
shall  yet  delight  the  heart  of  even 
an  anchorite.  Oh,  how  thankful  I 
feel  to  the  bull,  that,  grazing  irrev- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       465 

erently  in  yonder  lane,  lived  not  in 
vain.  I  know  this  minute,  you  wish 
you  had  such  a  field.  Don't  you 
envy  me  my  white-lilac  hedge  and 
the  old  slippery-elm  tree,  the  purple 
in  yonder  corner  and  all  the  riot  of 
red  colour?  How  I  wish  you  had 
just  such  a  field,  dear  heart,  who- 
ever you  are. 

I  do  so  admire  joe-pye  weed. 
Pat  and  I  have  planted  some  of  it 
quite  near  the  daffodils.  They  do 
not  flower  together;  but  could  they, 
I  fancy  such  crimson  and  gold 
would  make  a  splendid  harmony. 

Yesterday  I  was  tying  up  my 
zinnias,  for  the  wind  had  draggled 
them.  They  are  such  honest,  late 
bloomers,  looking  like  humble  folk 
in  gay  attire,  that  I  love  them.  I 
was  tying  them  up  very  tenderly 
when  a  visitor  wandered  into  my 


466       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


garden.  She  lives  in  New  York, 
and  to  her  the  whole  world  circles 
round  Central  Park.  I  agreed  with 
her  that  Central  Park  is  beautiful; 
"  but,"  said  I,  "  the  policemen  own 
it.  One  dare  not  so  much  as  touch 
a  leaf  for  fear  of  those  guardians  of 
the  law.  And  they  are  so  fierce,  so 
big  and  aggressive.  No,  Central 
Park  does  not  belong  to  God,  it 
belongs  to  the  policemen." 

She  said  she  had  never  noticed  it. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  because  you 
never  have  an  insane  desire  to  pick 
flowers,"  I  remarked.  "  Once, 
when  I  was  there,  I  saw  a  poor 
woman  in  a  shabby  gown  stoop 
down,  when  she  thought  no  one 
saw  her,  and  break  off  a  slip  from 
a  beautiful  plant.  Her  soul  longed 
for  flowers. 

"  From    behind    a    tree    came    a 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      467 

hoarse  command;  and  a  moment 
later,  I  beheld  the  poor  soul  es- 
corted, I  suppose,  to  prison,  by  a 
capable,  keen-sighted  guardian  of 
the  law. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  Central 
Park,"  I  concluded.  "  I  prefer  a 
garden  of  my  own,  and  a  field  that 
has  no  placard,  KEEP  OFF  THE 
GRASS;  I  like  to  go  forth  empty- 
handed  and  to  return  flower-laden, 
challenged  by  none." 

"  You  do  look  happy,"  she  said, 
a  little  wistfully. 

"I  am  just  what  I  look,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  and  it  is  all  because  I  love 
nature  and  fresh  air." 

I  feel  sorry  for  that  city  woman, 
just  as  I  feel  sorry  for  my  Aunt 
Matilda.  They  seem  to  have  so 
much,  yet  in  reality  have  so  little. 
A  good  summer  in  a  garden,  hoeing 


468      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

and  digging,  would  tone  up  their 
livers  and  make  new  creatures  of 
them.  Still  I  cannot  compel  them 
to  look  into  nature;  so,  I  fear  they 
will  never  know  what  they  have 
lost;  how  joyful  they  might  be  on 
this  earth;  how  little  need  they 
have  for  Heaven.  Of  course  I  wish 
and  I  expect  to  go  to  Heaven,  but 
it  is  because  I  know  I  must  make 
a  change.  If  I  had  my  way  I  should 
not  die  at  all:  I  should  keep  right 
on  cultivating  gardens  and  enjoy- 
ing myself.  After  I  had  lived  in 
one  garden  a  hundred  years  or  so, 
I  would  make  another  and  then  an- 
other. Who  knows  but  in  time  I 
could  transform  the  whole  earth 
into  one  vast  garden.  Then  would 
men  be  brothers ;  for  there  is  noth- 
ing like  an  interchange  of  flower 
seeds  to  promote  amicability. 


GOOD  ADVICE 
IN   REGARD      XXXI 
TO   COOKS 


SHOULD  feel 
quite  sorry  to  see 
August  slip  by, 
if  I  did  not  know 
that  September 
is  to  be  such  a  pleasant  month. 
Pleasant  to  me,  for  I  expect  to  plant 
my  little  friend's  lily  patch.  How 
I  hope  Mr.  Gerome  will  sort  every 
one  of  those  lily  bulbs  himself. 
That  florist  pretends  to  admire  me, 
and  he  certainly  ought  to  do  well 
by  me.  Then  Priscilla  Brown  is  to 
be  married  the  last  of  September. 
Donald  Warren  will  come  a  few 

469 


470      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

days  ahead  of  time,  visit  me,  and 
make  all  his  arrangements  for  mov- 
ing the  Brown  family. 

I  have  felt  a  lively  anxiety  as  to 
the  welfare  of  the  hens,  but  that 
is  over,  for  the  whole  flock  is  to  be 
sold  to  the  poorhouse.  Soon  the 
paupers  can  enjoy  freshly  laid  eggs. 
I  feel  sorry  for  the  hens.  I  expect 
some  of  them  will  get  the  pip  and 
die.  The  poorhouse  food  may  not 
agree  with  them;  it  will  chill  them, 
like  cold  charity.  However,  I  shall 
send  the  matron  all  my  sunflower 
seeds,  that  she  may  bestow  upon 
them,  now  and  then,  a  little  cheer- 
ful food.  At  first  I  thought  I 
should  have  to  take  the  whole  flock 
myself;  but  what  could  I  do  with 
ninety  hens  and  forty  roosters?  In 
less  than  a  year  I  should  not  have 
a  flower  on  the  place.  If  I  owned 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       471 

them  I  should  grow  to  love  them 
(it  is  a  weakness  of  mine  to  love 
everything  I  own),  therefore  I 
could  not  kill  them.  So,  if  there 
were  ninety  hens  this  year  there 
might  be  one  hundred  and  eighty 
hens  next  year  and  eighty  roosters ; 
and  the  next  year?  —  oh,  I  dared 
not  compute  it!  I  told  Belinda  I 
really  could  not  buy  them;  and  it 
was  a  comfort  to  me  when  I  learned 
they  were  going  to  the  poorhouse. 

I  think  Belinda  is  glad  to  leave 
the  farm.  She  says  that  now  she 
will  enjoy  herself,  doing  good  cook- 
ing. I  think  Belinda  and  Rhoda 
are  the  only  beings  I  ever  met  that 
so  dote  on  good  cooking. 

What  a  treasure  Donald  Warren 
will  have ;  and  he  really  thought  to 
leave  Belinda  behind.  It  is  well  he 
has  a  good  practical  friend  like  my- 


472      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

self  to  advise  him.  If  he  had  left 
this  real  jewel  behind  he  might  have 
been  deceived  by  a  paste  jewel,  one 
who  enjoys  doing  bad  cooking.  A 
paste  jewel,  of  this  sort,  can  cast  a 
blur  over  the  most  ideal  life  in  the 
world ;  she  can  make  dingy  a  whole 
household's  happiness;  she  can,  by 
bad  cooking,  bring  down  upon  the 
unlucky  family  a  series  of  diseases 
that  God  never  intended  them  to 
have. 

When  Donald  Warren  arrived  I 
charged  him  anew,  with  great  seri- 
ousness, to  watch  over  Belinda;  to 
cherish  her  as  the  apple  of  his  eye; 
to  give  her  a  good  tonic  every 
spring.  "  You  may  be  able  to  get 
another  wife,"  I  said,  "  but  it  is  only 
once  in  a  lifetime  you  can  secure 
a  good  cook.  Be  kind  to  Belinda 
and  thereby  you  will  escape  dys- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       473 

pepsia,  neuralgia,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  She  enjoys  doing  good 
cooking;  with  such  a  culinary  art- 
ist in  the  home,  there  will  be  joy, 
peace  and  happiness,  yea,  and  long 
life." 

After  I  had  delivered  this  sermon 
I  went  to  the  kitchen,  for  Rhoda 
was  calling  me.  "  Honey,  don'  yo' 
want  to  taste  mah  peach  butter?  " 
she  asked,  proudly  displaying  the 
tempting  result  of  her  labors. 

I  tasted  it,  then  I  spread  an  ample 
supply  of  it  on  two  slices  of  bread. 
These  I  placed  on  a  dainty  china 
plate  and  carried  them  to  Donald 
Warren.  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them,"  I  said.  "  Here,  take 
one  slice  and  I  will  eat  the  other. 
Oh,  how  I  thank  God  for  a  good 

cook!" 

When  there  was  not  a  crumb  left, 


474       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

we  entered  our  boat  and  rowed 
across  the  lake  to  the  Browns'. 

I  told  Donald  I  would  entertain 
Mr.  Brown  while  he  made  a  little 
love  to  Priscilla,  and  I  kept  my 
word.  Mr.  Brown  was  propped  up 
in  a  big  chair.  He  looked  very 
waxen  and  worn.  As  I  gazed  at 
him,  I  thought  how  essential  it  was 
that  he  should  keep  to  earth  and 
never  again  attempt  to  fly. 

He  asked  me  in  a  trembling  voice 
if  I  really  thought  Donald  Warren 
would  make  Priscilla  happy. 

When  I  assured  him  that  he  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  that  plant- 
loving  young  man,  he  sighed  and 
said,  "She  is  so  like  her  mother! 
I  dreamed  last  night  of  Priscilla's 
mother." 

"  Did  you?  "  I  said  gently. 

"  Yes,  and  she  appeared  to  me 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      475 

looking  young  and  lovely.  They 
never  grow  old  in  Paradise.  She 
smiled  —  the  same  tender,  flower- 
like  smile  of  old  —  and  she  wore 
the  rich  silvery  brocade,  with  its 
garlands  of  pink  roses,  that  I  used 
so  to  admire.  Is  it  not  strange  that 
the  dead  are  so  real  in  our  dreams  ? 

"She  asked  me  about  Priscilla 
and  I  told  her  that  while  I  had  not 
done  well  in  life,  I  had  always  loved 
our  child.  '  Now/  I  said,  '  I  must 
give  Priscilla  to  another.' 

"She  made  no  reply,  only  smiled 
and  tossed  me  the  fresh  pink  rose 
that  had  slept  on  her  bosom." 

The  poor  old  man  closed  his  eyes 
and  the  tears  slipped  down  his  pal- 
lid cheeks.  He  had  loved  and  lost. 
Did  I  say  lost?  I  did  not  mean  it; 
for  who  can  lose  Love?  It  is  the 
foundation  of  the  universe. 


476       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

"  I  think,"  he  said  presently, 
"  that  I  am  a  little  jealous  of  my 
daughter.  How  can  I  give  her  to 
this  stalwart  youth,  when  I  want 
her  for  mine  alone  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  I  remarked, 
"  there  are  always  two  ways  of 
looking  at  things :  there  is  the  dark 
side  and  the  bright  side.  I  believe 
if  you  will  turn  your  fears  over,  you 
will  find  they  are  like  clouds,  and 
have  a  silver  lining.  In  a  few  days 
you  will  not  only  have  one  child, 
but  two.  Think  of  it,  a  girl  and  a 
boy,  the  latter  well-grown,  with 
all  his  wild  oats  sown.  You  have 
escaped  his  bringing  up,  which 
means  much,  and  you  have  him  at 
his  best.  I  consider  that  you  are 
very  fortunate." 

I  smiled  and  Mr.  Brown  smiled 
also;  but  the  tears  were  still  slip- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       477 

ping  down  his  cheeks.  I  esteemed 
it  a  most  propitious  time  to  turn 
the  conversation  to  inventions.  I 
asked  him  about  his  patent  ear- 
trumpet. 

He  brightened  at  once  and 
wanted  to  know  if  I  were  deaf. 

I  told  him  no ;  but  it  was  always 
well  to  have  an  understanding  of 
things,  in  case  such  a  calamity 
should  overtake  me. 

Then  Mr.  Brown  launched  out. 
He  talked  for  two  straight  hours 
upon  the  merits  of  that  ear-trum- 
pet. His  eyes  sparkled  and  he  be- 
came quite  his  old  self.  I  listened 
with  all  the  fortitude  I  could  sum- 
mon, for  it  occurred  to  me  that  a 
woman  who  was  so  fond  of  ex- 
tolling plants  and  gardens  ought  to 
have  a  little  leniency  in  her  nature; 
still,  I  confess,  I  could  have  shed 


478       A  Midsummer  Wooing 

tears  of  joy,  when,  at  last,  I  beheld 
Priscilla  Brown  and  Donald  War- 
ren sauntering  toward  the  house. 

I  immediately  called  to  Donald 
that  I  had  not  watered  my  big  Bos- 
ton fern.  "  It  will  be  so  dry,  so 
very  dry!"  I  exclaimed.  "Oh,  we 
must  hasten  home."  Then  I  bade 
Mr.  Brown  good-bye.  I  told  him 
I  would  come  again,  and  hear  more 
about  that  delightful  ear-trumpet. 
In  the  meantime  he  must  keep  up 
his  spirits  and  be  sure  to  look  upon 
the  bright  side  of  things. 

As  we  rowed  across  the  lake,  I 
could  but  recall  Josh  Billings's  defi- 
nition of  a  bore,  "  The  man  who 
talks  about  himself,  just  when  you 
want  to  talk  about  yourself."  I 
realized  how  easily  I  might  have 
spent  those  two  hours  in  a  disser- 
tation upon  flower  seeds  alone.  I 


A  Midsummer  Wooing       479 

need  not  have  touched  upon  a  single 
plant.  Was  I  any  better  than  Mr. 
Brown,  whose  hobby,  for  the  time 
being,  was  ear-trumpets?  I  feared 
not. 

Presently  Donald  Warren  dis- 
turbed these  reflections  by  begin- 
ning a  dissertation  upon  the  merits 
of  his  beloved  Priscilla.  How  long 
could  he  keep  on,  I  wondered,  ex- 
pressing his  admiration  for  her?  I 
dared  not  reckon.  However,  I  was 
interested  in  learning  just  how 
much  he  loved  her  and  how  like 
Heaven  her  life  with  him  was  to  be. 
Always  would  he  bow  to  her  will; 
never,  for  a  moment,  should  she  be 
absent  from  his  thoughts. 

I  listened  silently  until  we 
reached  home  and  I  saw  Max's 
cigar  shining  like  a  firefly  through 
the  green  shrubbery. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing 


Here,  Max,"  I  called,  "  is  a  love- 
lorn lunatic.  Take  him  and  teach 
him  the  ways  of  this  mundane 
sphere.  The  poor  creature  fancies 
this  earth  is  Heaven." 


THEIR   WEDDING 


DAY 


XXXII 


HE    day     of    the 

wedding  dawned 
fair  and  cloud- 
less. It  was  just 
such  a  day  as  I 
desired.  Of  course,  I  should  not 
have  objected  to  a  cloud  or  so  in 
the  sky,  had  they  been  the  right 
sort  of  clouds,  great  drifts  of  snow 
hugging  the  horizon  and  intensify- 
ing the  blue. 

At  an  early  hour  I  heard  Donald 
Warren  arise;  and  a  little  later  I 
peeped  from  my  window  to  see  him 
pacing  the  garden  walks,  his  face 

481 


482       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


as  beaming  as  the  rising  sun.  I  no 
longer  felt  sleepy;  so,  quickly  dress- 
ing, I  joined  him. 

He  asked  at  once,  "  Do  you  think 
there  was  ever  another  such  day  as 
this?" 

"  No,"  I  told  him,  "  unless  it  was 
my  own  wedding  day;  which  was  a 
rare  and  delightful  day,  red-lettered 
in  the  calendar.  You  need  not 
think  you  are  the  only  person  who 
has  had  a  monopoly  of  happiness," 
I  concluded. 

"  Truly,  you  and  Max  have  got- 
ten on  well,"  he  remarked. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen,"  I  inter- 
rupted severely,  "a  woman  more 
devoted  to  a  garden  —  I  mean  to 
a  husband  —  than  I  am  to  mine?" 

"  Where  is  he  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  Asleep,  of  course.  It  is  a  sure 
sign  of  devotion,  when  a  woman 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      483 


lets  her  husband  sleep  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

He  laughed.  "  He  ought  to  be 
up  adoring  you,"  he  cried.  "  Next 
to  Priscilla  Brown,  you  are  the 
dearest  woman  in  the  world." 

I  thanked  him. 


you    going 


he 


'  Where    are 
asked. 

"Up  to  that  graveyard  on  the 
hillside,"  I  replied.  "There  is  a 
little  spot  of  earth  there  that  I  am 
keeping  green  for  remembrance's 
sake;  I  wish  to  water  some  of  the 
plants  and  flowers  I  have  placed 
upon  it." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

We  found  a  big  watering-pot  and 
set  out,  walking  through  the  dewy 
field  where  the  spiders  had  already 
spread  their  shining  webs.  "  It  is 
to  be  a  fine  day,"  I  said,  pointing 


484       A  Midsummer  Wooing 


downward;  "for  behold  Argiope's 
snare.  Is  it  not  strange  that  birds 
and  insects  are  better  weather 
prophets  than  man?" 

The  sun  was  shining  when  we 
opened  the  graveyard  gate,  falling 
in  serene  golden  rays  upon  the 
sunken  mounds.  I  watered  my 
plants,  which  were  already  growing 
gayly  above  the  lately  disturbed 
earth.  How  kind  is  Nature  to  so 
quickly  hide  these  bruised  spots! 
Donald  Warren  kept  close  beside 
me. 

"  The  one  whose  body  rests 
here,"  I  said  at  last,  "  lost  the  ful- 
filment of  love  in  this  life.  He 
never  realized  its  entire  sweetness 
or  its  sometime  bitterness.  The 
one  he  loved  went  away  in  all  her 
youth  and  glory,  while  he  remained 
behind;  until,  like  a  last  wind- 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      485 


blown  leaf,  he  succumbed  to  nature, 
falling  asleep  in  the  arms  of  Death. 
He  said  once  that  he  was  glad  she 
went  away,  this  little  sweetheart,' 
because,  now,  he  could  meet  her 
again  with  their  love  untarnished; 
not  spoiled  by  petty  misunderstand- 
ings or  hurt  by  harsh  words.  All 
his  life  he  had  kept  the  thought  of 
her  in  his  heart;  and  from  that 
thought  sprang  the  sweetest,  no- 
blest character  I  have  ever  known. 
He  was  always  happy,  my  dear  old 
friend!  He  believed  in  the  good- 
ness and  happiness  of  this  earth, 
and  in  the  goodness  and  happiness 
of  the  world  to  come.  He  would 
counsel  you  to-day  not  to  wedj 
Priscilla  Brown  for  this  life  only, 
but  for  the  life  to  come.  He  would 
bid  you  to  be  happy  here  that  you 
may  be  still  happier  over  there.  He 


486      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

would  tell  you  always,  to  behold 
Priscilla's  virtues,  and  never  her 
faults." 

"  She  has  no  faults,"  proclaimed 
Donald  Warren,  stoutly. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  I  said.  "  She 
is  the  sweetest,  dearest  girl  I  ever 
knew;  and  you  are  the  most  agree- 
able, plant-loving  young  man  of  my 
acquaintance.  I  have  great  hopes 
for  your  happiness." 

The  wedding  was  to  take  place 
at  high  noon ;  and  at  exactly  eleven 
o'clock,  Pat  had  the  boat  neatly 
carpeted  and  the  seats  upholstered 
in  fresh  cushions.  From  the  house 
emerged  the  garden  lady,  arrayed 
in  a  fine  white  Paris  muslin  with  a 
large  train.  Behind  her  walked  a 
train-bearer,  Araminta  Sprangle- 
berry,  gay  in  a  red  crape  frock  with 
red  footgear  to  match.  Rhoda  had 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      487 

brushed  out  her  pigtails  until  the 
piquant  little  face  was  surrounded 
with  a  soft  cloud  of  kinky  black- 
ness. Araminta  looked  like  some 
strange  tropical  blossom,  or,  as  I 
thought  later,  like  one  of  our  Amer- 
ican products,  a  piece  of  rookwood. 
She  tossed  her  head  in  a  lofty  man- 
ner and  bore  my  train  as  if  I  were 
the  one  lady  in  the  land.  I  took 
my  seat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and 
Max  handed  me  my  precious  bou- 
quet of  pink  tea  roses.  Araminta 
squeezed  in  beside  me.  Donald 
Warren  and  Max.  occupied  the  mid- 
dle seat  and  Pat  was  at  the  oars. 
Rhoda  watched  us  depart,  her  white 
teeth  gleaming  in  a  delighted  smile 
of  genuine  good-will. 

We  rowed  down  our  little  river 
and  across  the  shining  lake.  Half- 
way, we  overtook  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sim- 


488      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

mons,  he  rowing,  and  Mrs.  Sim- 
mons seated  opposite  to  him,  ar- 
rayed in  a  sweet  lavender  silk.  Mr. 
Simmons  had  the  important  duty 
of  performing  the  marriage  cere- 
mony; but  this  did  not  preclude 
him  from  unfolding  to  me  that  he 
had  sent  to  Japan  —  to  a  mission- 
ary he  knew  —  for  flower  seeds. 
When  they  came  he  would  divide 
with  me.  What  a  charming  and 
generous  man  he  is !  And  how  well 
it  is,  after  all,  to  send  missionaries 
abroad.  They  have  every  oppor- 
tunity to  study  the  flora  of  a  coun- 
try; and  when  it  comes  to  an  ex- 
change of  flower  seeds,  why,  they 
are  simply,  invaluable.  I  deter-/ 
mined  then  and  there  to  send  Mr.S  - 
Simmons,  the  very  next  day,  some 
roots  of  my  double  yellow  holly- 
hocks. I  had  noticed  how  much  he 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      489 

needed  them  against  his  dull  brick 
wall. 

When  we  reached  the  landing, 
we  walked  through  the  fields,  a 
most  inspiring  procession,  Mr.  Sim- 
mons naturally  leading  the  flock; 
I  following  with  my  train-bearer; 
Mrs.  Simmons  lingering  to  have  a 
few  words  with  Max;  while  Don- 
ald Warren,  well,  he  walked  on  air. 

We  reached  the  Brown  domain 
and  found  Belinda,  arrayed  in  a 
purple  frock  with  a  yellow  silk  sash 
around  her  waist,  waiting  to  wel- 
come us.  I  had  persuaded  her  to 
make  the  button  at  the  back  of  her 
head  a  trifle  larger;  and  to  prove 
my  interest  had  presented  her  with 
a  nice  hair  switch.  She  looked,  if 
not  handsome,  very  gorgeous. 

Mr.  Brown  was  propped  up  in 
his  big  chair.  He  appeared  quite 


490      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

cheerful.  And  the  bride?  There  are 
brides  the  world  over,  yet  none  ever 
looked  fairer  than  Priscilla  Brown. 
When  my  eyes  rested  upon  her  I 
thought  of  white  flowers ;  but  none 
that  I  recalled  quite  suited  me  in 
point  of  resemblance,  so  I  said:  "  I 
will  choose  a  gem,  a  Ceylon  pearl." 
No  wonder  Donald  Warren  vowed 
her  a  life  of  devotion. 

Soon  it  was  all  over,  and  I  had 
kissed  the  bride,  forcing  back  my 
tears.  We  had  eaten  Belinda's  ex- 
cellent wedding  breakfast,  and  now 
Mr.  Brown  was  growing  agitated. 
Max  helped  him  into  a  light  over- 
coat and  handed  him  his  rusty  silk 
hat.  With  the  aid  of  a  newly  made 
son  and  a  crutch,  he  hobbled  to  the 
carriage,  and  was  gently  lifted  in; 
then  followed  Priscilla,  dressed  in 
deep  blue,  with  pink  roses  in  her 


•-. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      491 

hat.  It  was  a  modern  costume,  but 
it  became  her  no  better  than  the 
quaint  old  gowns  belonging  to 
mamma  of  histrionic  fame.  She 
took  the  vacant  place  beside  her 
father  and  the  bridegroom  sat  op- 
posite. It  seemed  a  little  cruel  that 
Donald  Warren  could  not  sit  be- 
side his  bride;  but,  I  reflected,  "  He 
can  gaze  into  her  eyes,  and  that  will 
suffice." 

At  last  came  Belinda,  very  red  in 
the  face  from  over-exertion.  She 
wore  her  black  silk  "  mantilly  "  and 
a  bonnet  that  would  shame  a  flower 
garden.  She  carried  numerous 
bandboxes  and  bundles  and  climbed 
up  beside  the  driver.  Belinda  has 
no  modern  notions  as  to  the  rights 
of  cooks.  I  was  the  last  one  she 
looked  upon.  As  she  said  farewell, 
she  bade  me  see  that  the  man  who 


492      A  Midsummer  Wooing 


was  to  come  after  the  fowls  should 
not  overlook  a  black-and-white  hen 
that  had  stolen  her  nest.  "  She  has 
lost  some  of  her  tail  feathers," 
shouted  poor  Belinda,  as  the  car- 
riage rolled  away;  "  and  I  think  she 
has  a  topknot.  I  don't  know  wher- 
ever she's  hid  her  nest,  'thout  'tis 
in  the  south  medder.  She  was  allus 
makin'  for  that  medder-lot." 

I  called  back  to  her  not  to  worry ; 
I  would  hunt  the  hen,  and  I  shall. 
It  will  be  such  fun  poking  around 
the  meadow,  peering  under  the 
golden-rod,  and  lifting  the  wild- 
grape  vines,  searching  for  a  black- 
and-white  truant,  with  lost  tail 
feathers  and  a  topknot.  Maybe  the 
unlucky  fowl  realizes  that  she  is 
bound  for  the  poorhouse  (unpleas- 
ant prospect),  and  has  hidden  her- 
self away.  Still,  she  must  be  found. 


j£ 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      493 

If  left  out,  she  might  starve  or  the 
foxes  eat  her. 

I  sigh  a  little  as  I  gaze  at  the 
empty  house;  empty,  for  all  save 
Mrs.  Sullivan,  who  upon  this  fes- 
tive occasion  has  volunteered  to 
"  rid  up  things."  She  will  stay  un- 
til night,  then  lock  fast  and  strong 
and  bring  the  keys  to  me. 

It  is  all  over,  the  dear  little  ro- 
mance in  which  I  played  so  cred- 
itable a  part.  But  for  me  there 
would  have  been  no  wedding;  and 
but  for  the  violets.  To  be  sure, 
these  plants  cost  something;  then 
they  refused  to  bloom,  and  the  tend- 
ing of  them  gave  poor  Belinda  the 
lumbago.  Some  people  would  have 
sighed  and  said,  "  What  a  failure!  " 
To  such,  life  is  always  a  failure,  but 
I  waited  and  hoped  and  prayed;  I 
helped  things  along  judiciously,  for 


494      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

one  cannot  go  too  fast  at  match- 
making; and  lo,  the  result.  Even 
that  kind  old  uncle  out  in  California 
contributed  his  share  to  the  general 
happiness.  To  be  sure,  he  died  to 
do  it;  but  then  he  was  ninety,  and 
no  doubt  well  prepared  for  another 
world.  It  looks  as  if  it  were  all  pre- 
destined; and  /  made  the  instru- 
ment to  bring  it  about.  As  there 
was  no  one  else  to  praise  me,  I  said 
to  myself:  "Well  done,  thou  good 
and  faithful  servant !  " 

Silently,  and  a  little  sadly,  we 
walked  down  the  path  to  the  lake. 
I  watched  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Simmons 
embark;  and  in  parting  said  truth- 
fully that  I  hoped  nothing  would 
happen  to  that  missionary  before  he 
sent  us  the  flower  seeds.  There  are 
so  many  uprisings  in  foreign  coun- 
tries that  one  never  feels  safe. 


A  Midsummer  Wooing      495 

Then  I  turned  to  my  train- 
bearer,  "  Araminta,"  I  said,  "  you 
may  walk  home;  but  if  you  get  a 
spot  on  your  red  shoes  you  need 
not  expect  to  attend  another  wed- 
ding." I  dismissed  Pat;  for  oh,  I 
so  wanted  to  be  alone  with  Max. 
He  is  such  a  comforter. 

We  rowed  out  on  the  quiet  lake. 
What  a  serene  and  joyful  after- 
noon; not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  and 
over  yonder  in  the  fields  the  inde- 
fatigable little  song  sparrows  sing- 
ing as  merrily  as  if  it  were  April. 
I  love  a  song  sparrow,  because  he 
is  so  chipper  and  hard  to  discour- 
age. 

Presently  my  husband  let  the 
boat  drift.  He  looked  at  me 
and  inquired  a  trifle  quizzically: 
"What's  the  matter,  Mistress 
Greenslip?" 


496      A  Midsummer  Wooing 

I  dipped  one  hand  in  the  water 
and  let  the  shining  drops  run  to 
sink  into  the  blue  again.  "  Noth- 
ing," I  said  bravely;  "I  was  only 
thinking  how  I  shall  miss  Priscilla; 
but  Donald  Warren  has  promised 
that  they  shall  all  return  next  sum- 
mer." 

When  we  reached  our  landing 
Max  helped  me  out,  then  caught  me 
to  his  heart. 

"  You're  not  going  to  pine,  little 
Judith?"  he  said. 

"Pine!"  I  exclaimed,  "with  the 
garden  and  you  left  to  comfort  me. 
What  more  could  one  ask?  " 

"  Nothing  more,"  replied  Max. 


THE  END. 


A     000072180 


